


what would I do if there wasn't a you?

by georgiestauffenberg



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Time, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiestauffenberg/pseuds/georgiestauffenberg
Summary: Her touch is warm, and he runs his thumb over the backs of her fingers. “I’m going to stop it. The apocalypse. I know the day it happens, and I have a clue that could lead to who’s responsible.” He turns her hand, and she lets him, and he presses his thumb to the pulse in her wrist, feeling the sure, steady beat.“I’ll help you,” she says.AU. Five makes it back from the future after months instead of years, and it changes (some) things.





	what would I do if there wasn't a you?

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be in response to a prompt in the kinkmeme, and it, ah, _spiraled._ Story of my life. I didn't have the patience to edit it properly, so I'll warn you right now that there are typos. I have a lot of feelings about Allison (and her relationship with Vanya), so some of that might have bled through. But I tried to keep the focus of the fic on Five, Vanya, and their relationship.
> 
> It's definitely a romance, so turn away now if that doesn't strike your fancy. I tagged it Sibling Incest to make that clear. That said, I don't consider it incest, and you can't change my mind. :)

_Don't cut the lights,_  
_Just take it slow._  
_We're moving fast,_  
_We've lost control,_  
_But I feel safe with you._

\---

He almost doesn't believe it when he stumbles, hits the ground, and scrapes his knees, only to look up, and see a street that's crowded with passersby.

He's back.

He breathes in air that's cool, crisp, and clean.

He thought he was going to spend the rest of his life in the empty, smoking husk of the world.

He scrambles to his feet, and takes another long, desperate gulp of air.

He's _back._

He doesn't know when he's returned to, but it's before the apocalypse, and that's a victory. He clutches at his hair, and he starts to laugh so hysterically it makes people look at him in concern, and he's never known this kind of pure, unadulterated _joy_. He doesn't care when he is, because he knows it's the past, and that is everything he wanted.

He manages to calm down slightly, and checks his appearance in the window of a car, and he looks exactly like someone who's returned from a desolate, burning world.

He jumps.

Before he does anything else, he needs to take a shower to remove the grime of the apocalypse. He'll eat after that, and he is already going through a list of everything he wants to eat. And when he's ready, he'll face the reality of what precise time he returned to.

He appears in the bathroom of the house. He strips his clothes, and he takes a long, hot shower. He looks at his reflection in the mirror after, and decides he needs a haircut.

He jumps to his bedroom to put on fresh, clean clothes.

He jumps to the kitchen.

He is face to face with his mother. "Hello, dear," she says, calm. He's been living through literal hell in a ruined, post-apocalyptic world, and she greets him like he's been for a stroll in the park.

"What's the date?" he demands.

That's how he learns that he's returned to the afternoon of the day he left.

He doesn't have very much time with that information.

It's no surprise that as soon as Reginald learns he's back, Five is forced to endure a loud, endless lecture about impertinence.

He is hungry, and he is _itching_ to lay his eyes on the others, but he has to listen to the ravings of an old, useless man who thinks he's special because he's the boss of people who actually _are_ special.

"You allowed blind, arrogant _petulance_ to rule you, ran off without being excused, and left the house without my permission!"

Five curls his hands into fists.

He goes on furiously about how Five must learn his place, and how he must start following the rules, and how they will not discuss time travel again.

Five is ready to snarl at him that he _did_ it, and he survived, and he isn't some fucking acorn, _Reginald_ , but he locks his jaw, and he keeps the victory to himself.

"To your room," Reginald says.

"I'm hungry."

"To your room!"

He turns on his heel to leave the kitchen, only to pause. There's an audience in the doorway. He moves his eyes over each of his silent, stoic siblings, drinking in the sight of them.

"You will not leave your room until I give you permission."

"Right." His gaze lingers on Vanya. "I'll take that into consideration," he says.

"You will follow the orders I give you!"

He jumps.

He slams the door of his bedroom as loudly as possible.

He has to bide his time. The thought of sleeping in a bed is enticing, but he's way too wired to sleep. He opens the window to let in fresh, clean air, and he works on equations in his notebooks for a while, reading through theories his younger, pre-apocalyptic self had posited, and making small corrections.

The moment it's dark, he jumps.

He goes to the video room feed to put the tapes on a loop.

They're lucky Reginald has stopped obsessively monitoring their vitals every night, but the cameras that follow them throughout the house remain in place 24/7.

Five was ten years old when he learned how to circumvent the surveillance by switching the video of his room to a loop of an old, recorded tape.

He switches Vanya's feed, too.

He jumps to the kitchen.

He is going to make a sandwich for himself, but he finds one already on a plate with plastic wrap covering it neatly, and he smiles.

He jumps to her room.

It's dark, and it has to be, because it's after their curfew, but he is more than capable of navigating her room in the dark, and he takes a seat on her bed.

"Hey."

"I went to the future," he says.

" _What_?"

"I did it more than once, actually. It was summer. It was winter. It was the end of the world. I don't know what happened, but I know _when_ it'll happen."

"You . . ." He can practically hear the crease in her brow. "You went to the end of the world?"

"I was trapped. I got there, tried to leave, and _couldn't_. It happens in 2019. Something is going to destroy the world. I don't know how long I was there for, but I never saw another living person."

She's quiet.

He is fine with that. Her knee is pressed to his thigh, and he can feel the warmth of her, and the familiar comfortable silence of her companionship is more than enough for him. He isn't alone.

"What did Dad say when you told him?" she asks.

He scoffs. "I didn't tell him. Why should I? If he doesn't think I'm capable of traveling to the future, let him think that."

There's a pause in the air, so he knows there's something she wants to say, and he waits. "You aren't going to do it again, are you?" she asks.

"I can't risk getting stuck again. Eventually, I will. I have more calculations I need to do first."

"How long were you there for?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Long enough that I thought I'd never . . ." He swallows. "I ate cockroaches."

"Ew." He's just barely able to see the wrinkle of her nose "Gross."

"I was doing what I needed to do to _survive_."

"Still," she says.

It's quiet.

"I'm glad you made it back. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't. I don't think I could survive living here without you."

"You'd manage," he says, dismissive.

"I wouldn't want to."

He takes a moment to consider the way he wants to say what he says next. "I won't say it wasn't . . . _difficult_ to be on my own. The fact that the world had gone to hell didn't help. I don't know how much longer I would have survived in that place." He was starting to lose his mind, to be honest.

She takes his hand.

Her touch is warm, and he runs his thumb over the backs of her fingers. "I'm going to stop it. The apocalypse. I know the day it happens, and I have a clue that could lead to who's responsible." He turns her hand, and she lets him, and he presses his thumb to the pulse in her wrist, feeling the sure, steady beat.

"I'll help you," she says.

"You can't tell any of the others. Not yet. They may need to know eventually, but I want to sort through things with a level head before we bring in them and their shenanigans."

"Shenanigans?" There's a smile in her voice. "How old do you think you are?"

"Now?" He puts the plate on the table by her bed before he flops onto his back, and she scoots over slightly to give him room. "Several months older than the rest of you."

"Congratulations."

He rolls her eyes, and he assumes she knows it.

Silence settles easily over them.

He should try sleeping. He traveled through time to the end of the world, and made it home again. He deserves a good night's sleep in soft cotton sheets. But he can't simply close his eyes, and drift off peacefully. What if he wakes up back at the end of the world?

He reaches for her hand, and holds it against his chest, because he wants to, and he won't think about why.

\---

He is changed after several long, lonely months in a world of ash.

He used to have so much to prove. He used to need Reginald's approval. He used to live for being the best.

Now, though?

He hears the alarms go off to signal a mission, and he ignores it. From where he sits on the sill of the window in his room, he extends his hand into the rain, and he lets the cool, clear water collect in his palm and run in rivers over his wrist, down his arm, and to his elbow. He hears the pounding of footsteps in the hallway, and heaves a sigh.

Despite what they might think, he is fond of all of his siblings.

They are everything he knows, after all.

He might not have wanted to admit it before he had to survive the end of the world with the memory of their grown, dusty bodies, but it's true, and he'll admit it now if only to himself.

He can only take so much of them before he loses his patience, however.

Vanya is different. That was true before the end of the world. She is ordinary, and it makes her the most palatable person in the house.

The others have powers that have gone to their heads, that make them ridiculous at best, tiresome the majority of the time, and insufferable at worst. Or is he being too kind to blame their powers? It could be the rest of them are genuinely stupid, irritating persons.

She isn't.

She is clever, and she works at playing the violin with a focus, a perseverance, and a basic work ethic that the rest of their lazy, superpowered family doesn't seem to possess, and she is his ally in the house.

If they were normal, ordinary children with parents who went to school with hundreds of peers, he would still want her for a friend.

He can't say the same about any of the others.

After his return from the future, it calms some frantic, traumatized part of him to be in their presence, and have them behave like always. Luther is dull. Allison is madly in love with herself. Klaus is outrageous. They are who he remembers, and he is reassured that he's _home_.

But if you give him a choice, he'll choose her every single time.

The moment their father is distracted with one of the others, he abandons his lessons, and he reads on her bed while she practices her violin.

He jumps into her room after dark to eat his usual midnight snack, and she tells him sleepily that he's leaving sandwich crumbs in her bed, but she never actually makes him leave, and he's allowed to listen to the soft, steady cadence of her breath in the dark.

In the measly thirty minutes of free time they're given every week, he holes up in one of the smaller, sunnier parlors with her, and he works on his equations while she writes short stories in her journal.

He is fond of all of them, but he is fondest of her, and now more so than ever.

\---

It's an exercise in gritting his teeth at times, but he learns to live his old, regular life again.

That isn't to say he can forget the taste of ash in his mouth.

He finds the vegetables in the fridge. It's a feast. He spoons the spinach from the container with his fingers, and he eats the lettuce in hasty, torn stripes, his hands grow sticky with the juice of the tomatoes, and the seeds in the peppers get stuck in the corners of his mouth, and his jaw is sore after he chews the entirety of several long, crunchy stalks of celery.

He'll never be able to forget the thirst and the heat and the utter, overwhelming silence.

He learns to live with the memory, though.

It's over a year before something finally happens that matters more to him than the memory of the apocalypse.

Vanya is sent to a prestigious music academy in the city.

There's no reason to have her stay at home with the rest of them. She isn't a member of the Umbrella Academy, after all. They have training in the morning with intensive private tutoring in the afternoon, and she's only ever been allowed to participate in half of that.

Vanya knows about the change in advance, because she has to audition for the school.

That's how Five knows about it, too.

The others learn the news at the end of dinner when Reginald tells Vanya that the car will leave the estate to take her to school at precisely 6:15 a.m. tomorrow, and she is to be ready at that time.

"Why does Vanya get to go to school?" Allison asks.

"It's time she learned to socialize."

"What about the rest of us? If that's the reason, we should go to school, too. Don't _we_ need to learn to socialize?"

"You have more important concerns."

"But—"

"I am finished with this conversation, Number Three."

Vanya gifts Five with a small, genuine smile when he jumps into her room the night after her very first day.

"I liked it," she admits. "I fit in. Nobody at school is special. I'm like everyone else."

He is glad for her.

She hasn't been going to school for a month, however, when she disappears.

It's starts when she doesn't come home from school in the afternoon.

At dinner, he asks where she is.

"School," Reginald says.

"It's _night_. School is over. She should be home by now."

"This isn't your business, Number Five."

He glares.

Reginald is unfazed.

She doesn't come home before curfew.

He jumps to her room, takes a seat by the window, and keeps an eye on the street for her.

At three in the morning, he ransacks the study in search of clues. She isn't a boarder at her school, so there's no way that's where she is. Reginald has done something with her, and he wants to know what.

He takes a seat at the desk, and he waits.

It isn't seven in the morning when Reginald comes in.

"What is the meaning of this?" he says, looking at the mess that Five has made of his study.

"Where is Vanya?"

"She is at school. You know this. Your insolence has reached new heights, Number Five."

"She didn't come home last night," Five says.

"That is none of your concern."

"What have you done with her? _Are_ you having her board at the school? Have you sent her off somewhere?"

"Enough!"

They glare at each other for a moment.

"I do not know Number Seven's whereabouts at this time. I assume her failure to return this evening is a gambit for attention. I have not _sent her off_ , and I will not tolerate this impertinence from you. Furthermore, the choices I make in regards to Number Seven are _my_ choices to make. Should I choose to see her placed in a situation more suited to her lack of talents, it will remain _none of your business_."

Five has never hated Reginald more in his life.

"You will go to breakfast with the others. You will bite your tongue. You will complete your training, and you will not say another word about this."

"You don't know where she is," Five says.

"No."

He pushes to his feet, circles to the desk, and strides to the door.

"Have I made myself clear?"

He doesn't bother replying to that.

If Reginald has no idea where she is, it's up to Five to find her.

He starts by talking to Pogo, because Pogo was supposed to pick up Vanya from school. According to Pogo, he arrived at the school, and Vanya wasn't there. Five grills Pogo until the monkey sighs, turns, and walks away from him.

He goes to her school, and he talks with the headmaster.

That night he approaches the others with everything he knows, which is nothing at all.

"I think Vanya might have been kidnapped."

"What?" Luther says.

"Who would want to kidnap _Vanya_?" Diego says, incredulous.

"She left school yesterday afternoon, and was seen waiting for Pogo to collect her. She wasn't there when he arrived. She wasn't at school today, and nobody knows where she is."

"Did she run off?" Allison says.

He glares. "No."

"Did you talk to Dad about it?" Luther asks.

"I did." He clenches his jaw. "He informed me that he has no idea where she is, and he does not care."

"Sounds about right," Diego says.

"Ah." Klaus heaves a big, wistful sigh. "I wonder what it's like to have Dad not give a shit where you are, or what you're doing. Can you imagine? She's living the dream."

"She was _kidnapped_!"

"Don't you think you might be overreacting?" Allison says.

"I'm sure she's fine," Luther says.

"She's probably just staying with a friend from school, or something," Ben says.

"I wish _I_ could stay at someone else's house," Allison says.

Five looks furiously at all of them. These are the people Reginald expects to save the world? None of them even care that one of their own has _disappeared_.

"She'll turn up," Luther says.

He stares at Luther. "Wow." He controls the rage that simmers under his skin, resists the urge sneer at the Neanderthal who's supposedly their _leader_ , and smiles. "You _are_ as stupid as you look." He turns on his heel.

"That's real mature."

He's already tearing through space.

If the others aren't going to help, _fine_. He'll find her by himself. Of course, he's already followed every possible lead, and he has no idea where to go from here.

Three days pass

His father _poisons_ his breakfast with a medication that blocks his powers until it leaves his system. "If you cannot use your powers responsibly," Reginald says, "you will not use them at all." Five has no form of reprisal, and can't do anything but take his punishment.

Once he's returned to normal, he participates in training like the good little boy Reginald wants.

Though he'd never admit it, it scares him not to have his powers. They're a _part_ of him. He's never not been able to see the fabric of reality in front of him, to reach for it when he wants, and push his way through it.

Reginald knows how to control his children.

Two days pass.

He searched for her body in the ruins of the future for _days_. He never, ever found her. He overturned the wreckage until his hands were torn up, bloody, and swollen with the effort.

Is this why she wasn't there with the rest of them at the end?

He refuses to give up.

By Saturday, he's decided to leave the house, and not to return until he's found her.

It figures that's when it happens.

"Five," says his mother, "you have a call."

He glares.

She is unaffected, and continues to hold the receiver for him.

He takes it and turns away pointedly from her, which, of course, does not bother her. "What?" he says, curt. He has no idea who's calling him, but he suspects it's some stupid prank along the lines of when Klaus ordered Luther a lot of subscriptions for weird porno magazines.

" _Five_."

"Vanya?" He tenses. "Where are you?"

" _I—I'm at gas station. The man at the register is letting me use the phone behind the counter. I need you to come get me_." Her words are rushed, and her voice is tearful. " _Five, I think they might be dead. And I . . . But if I didn't, they're going to come after me_."

"Where are you?"

" _I—_ "

"The address."

She has to ask the man who lent her the phone.

"I'm on my way. Go to the bathroom, and lock the door. I'll be there soon."

" _Okay_."

He hangs up the phone. For a split-second, he thinks of shouting for the others. But they've already proven themselves utterly _useless_.

He jumps to Allison's bedroom, and steals the cash that she keeps under her mattress. He jumps to the small, dusty study where Pogo has stashed a gun in the drawer, and takes it. He jumps to outside, and hails a cab, telling the man he'll play him extra to speed.

He wishes he could go directly to the address she gave him, but he can't jump to somewhere he's never seen before.

He's stuck in the cab for nearly twenty minutes.

The moment he sees the rundown gas station in the distance, he tells the cabbie to pull over.

"Here?" says the man.

He tosses what's probably several hundred dollars at the man, says "wait," and opens the door of the cab before the car has come to a stop.

It's fine.

He might have tripped, but he jumps to the back of the station.

He assumes the bathroom is outside, and he's right. "Vanya!" He raps on the door.

She opens it immediately.

Her blouse is torn. She's got a nasty, sprawling bruise on the side of her face, and angry red lines along her cheeks that make him think she was gagged. Her hands are cut up, raw, and red.

"Who did this?" The anger is a living, breathing thing inside him.

She shakes her head. "I . . . I don't know who they were. They had me at the motel up the road. And I don't know what happened, but it was like the whole room exploded, and when I woke up, they were motionless, and I didn't know what had happened, but I ran, and I . . ." Her eyes grow wet.

"You left them at the motel?"

She nods.

"What room number?"

"I . . ." She frowns. "Seventeen, I think?"

"Come on." He jerks his head in the direction of the road, stepping back slightly to allow her to leave the bathroom. "I've got a cab."

They start for the cab, only for her to falter. "Five, I—" There's a look of real, unadulterated fear on her face.

"It's okay," he says.

She has to wipe at her cheeks.

He cups her elbow. "I mean it. You're safe. I won't let them near you again." He holds her gaze until he's certain she believes it.

"Okay."

The cabbie has a hundred different questions on his face when they reach the cab, but he's in the middle of counting the cash, too, and he doesn't protest when Five opens the door to the back for Vanya.

She slides in.

He ducks his head in after her. "Take her straight to the address where you picked me up. No questions. If she doesn't make it there unscathed, I'm holding you responsible, and I _will_ come for you." He doesn't trying hiding the hot, murderous rage he's feeling.

"Yes, sir," says the cabbie.

"Wait," Vanya says, alarmed.

"We'll talk more when I get home," he assures.

"Where are you going?" Her eyes have gone wide with panic. "I thought you were coming with me?"

"I'm going to the motel."

She doesn't respond immediately, which he takes for agreement, and he straightens, closing the door of the cab, and banging the top to send it off.

It pulls onto the road, and speeds off.

He starts at a jog that turns into a sprint, and he starts to jump, and he's in front of the motel in minutes.

It's a cheap, dilapidated place.

He searches for seventeen, and finds it easily. He can't see much through the crack in the curtains, but he decides to risk it. He focuses, and he jumps. It's dangerous to jump to a space he can't actually see, but it's worth the risk. He appears in a safe, empty space in front of the door, thankfully.

The room is empty, but it's obvious this is the room where Vanya was kept.

The furniture is completely in disarray, there are two large, dark stains of blood on the floor, and a chair is overturned in the middle of the room beside a handkerchief that's tied in the shape of a gag.

He glares for a moment at that.

He knows to search the room for clues, and he has to admit to hoping to find her kidnappers in the bathroom, because he is chomping at the bit to make them hurt. The place is empty, however. They must have survived whatever happened, and they knew to hightail it after.

He goes to talk to the man at the motel's front desk, and finds him _supremely_ unhelpful.

In the end, he is forced to return to the house.

He knows he's in trouble. He was gone for most of the afternoon. He's sure his father is furious. Before that happens, he needs to check on Vanya. He jumps to her room before anyone realizes he's home.

She is siting on the floor with her back to the wall. "Hey," she says. He's glad to see that after a shower, a change of clothes, and, hopefully, a bit of sleep, she looks much better.

"They were gone," he admits.

"Oh."

He sits on the edge of her bed. "I need you to walk me through everything that happened." He hadn't sought details from her earlier, but he needs them now.

She nods. "I was on my way to get the bus after school, and a big, black car pulled up, and this man in a mask jumped out, grabbed me, and stuck a needle in my neck. He drugged me. I woke up, and I was tied to a chair in some motel room, and I was gagged." She toys with the edge of her sock.

He waits.

"They didn't explain what they wanted. They untied me once a day to eat, but they kept a gun on me, and when I tried to ask them what they wanted with me, they ignored me. They didn't hurt me, but they . . . " She shrugs. "I got to go to the bathroom, too, at first, but I tried to escape, and they caught me." She touches her cheek. "I lost _the privilege_ of the bathroom after that."

"What did they look like?"

She shakes her head. "They wore these weird, cartoon animal masks whenever they were in the room with me. I . . . one of them called the other Cha-Cha, but that must have been a codename, right? They kept me locked up, and I have no idea who they were, or what they wanted." There's a tremor in her voice that he dislikes.

"If I ever find out who they are, I'll kill them," he says.

"They did tell me . . ." She hesitates.

"What?"

"One of them told me I didn't need to cry so much, because the mission wasn't to keep me locked up indefinitely." She drops her gaze to her knees. "He said they were only keeping me until I learned that my family didn't care about me."

He frowns. "What? Why would they do that?"

She shrugs.

"Vanya."

"Do you know what Dad said to me when he saw me earlier?"

"He doesn't care about any of us. He isn't your family. Reginald is a miserable old maniac who never even wanted the title of father, I couldn't give a shit what he thinks, and you shouldn't either."

"I know, but—he saw me, and said _I see you're back_.That's it. It was like he couldn't have cared less about me, or where I was."

"He's a piece of shit," Five says.

"And when I saw Mom, she was concerned that I was hurt, and she started to give me statistics about runaways, and when I tried to tell her that I hadn't run away, she told me that I shouldn't tell stories." She looks like she's going to cry. "I got upset, and she didn't understand why."

"What about me?"

"What?"

" _I_ knew you hadn't run off."

She looks at him, and he meets her gaze patiently. "I know." She wipes at her cheeks, and musters a smile for him.

There's a knock on the door.

She shoves to her feet, and both of them glance at the door, but he raises a hand to stop her from going to see who's there.

"Vanya?" It's the calm, cool voice of their mother. "Time for bed."

"Yes, Mom," Vanya says, raising her voice.

After a beat, they hear the click of her heels go down the hallway.

Vanya sits beside him on the bed. "You missed your training today," she says. It's a question, and there's an apology on her face.

"I had more important things to do."

She hugs him. It's startling, to say the least, and it takes a moment for him to wrap his arm around her in reply. She doesn't seem bothered by his uncertainty, or the awkwardness of the angle, and he pats at her back to show he's okay with it, too.

He's never hugged anyone before.

Her hair is soft on his cheek, and her hands have fisted in the material of his jacket, and when he hears her small, quiet sniffle, he can't help but tighten his hold on her.

"I mean it, you know," he says. "If I ever find them, I'll kill them."

She pulls away to smile at him. "I believe you." Her hands rest on his arms.

"Can you tell me again how you escaped?"

"I don't really know how."

"You said there was an explosion?" He searches her face.

"I . . ." Her eyes find a spot in the distance. "They were getting in my face. Saying this terrible stuff about how worthless I am, and . . . They were being _so_ awful, and I—I closed my eyes, and I tried to ignore it, and—and, suddenly, it was . . ." She shakes her head. "I don't know. It was like a bomb went off. I don't know."

"Did _you_ do it?" He frowns. "Vanya, do you have a power?"

"What? _No_. I don't know what caused the explosion, but it wasn't _me_."

"Yeah." He pushes a hand through his hair. "With the series of tests he puts us through, there's no way Reginald would have missed it." That leaves him without any clue what happened. He's going to have to think on it. Mysteries have never sat well with him, and this is one that matters more than most.

"Can you do something for me?" she asks.

He waits.

"Don't tell anyone I was kidnapped. The others, I mean. I'm sure they think I ran away. And I think it's better this way. They already think I'm pathetic, and I don't need them thinking I'm some useless burden they have to keep an eye on, too."

He is tempted to argue with her, because, yes, they did think she ran away, and with the exception of Ben, they didn't show very much concern. He's certain they would be remorseful if they learned the truth, however. He might not always think highly of the others, but he knows they would believe her, and support her.

It isn't his decision to make.

He would have thought sweet, sensitive Vanya would want coddling from her siblings, but, then, none of them was bred for coddling, or for kindness, and he doubts any of them would be any good at it.

"Please, Five," she says.

He takes her hands. "I won't say a word."

"Thanks."

He considers her. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

"I'll get us something to eat. You should turn off the light. We don't need Mom stopping by again because the light is on."

She nods.

He jumps to the kitchen, makes them sandwiches, and jumps to her dark, quiet bedroom with a plate in each of his hands.

She has to return to school on Monday.

He plans to escort her. But he is told if does not get his behavior in check _immediately_ , Vanya will be sent to board at school. He hates it, but he has to attend his training in the morning with the others.

He considered it proof his father was a monster when he threatened to take Five's powers.

It's a new, twisted kind of cruelty for Reginald to threaten to take _Vanya_ from him, however, and it works.

He knows what's most precious to Five.

"I'll be fine," Vanya says, soft. "Pogo will take me right up to the front of the school and watch me go in, and he promised he'll already be there when school is released."

She's right. Nothing goes wrong. She makes it safely to school, and safely home again.

In the days that follow, he cycles through every possible theory of who kidnapped her, what they wanted, and how she escaped their clutches. Nothing makes sense. He reads the news for information about psychos in cartoon animal masks. He goes by every local hospital in search of them, which, admittedly, is a bit of a stretch. He keeps an eye on the motel for a while. But, eventually, he admits to himself that there aren't clues to find, and he gives up.

He makes a promise to himself. Someday, he'll learn who they were. And when he does, he'll make them pay.

\---

He notices almost immediately when Vanya wears makeup. "What's on your face?" Her lips are _pink_.

She flushes.

"Is that lipstick?"

"It's chapstick. I—I made friends with a girl at school, and she thought it would look good. It's tinted." She wipes at her mouth with her hand, and she won't really look at him. "It's stupid."

He doesn't say anything.

It's strange that Vanya has a life outside the house.

The rest of them certainly don't.

Reginald has always had control of almost every aspect of their life. They live in a world he created with careful, terrifying detail especially for them. If there's any hint that they want to participate in the world outside the house, Reginald is quick to shut it down.

Or that's the way it used to be.

Reginald is starting to lose his hold on them.

Concessions are being slowly made, though they are rarely acknowledged aloud.

If Klaus attends training when he's supposed to, nobody says anything about how high he is. If Allison dresses appropriately for missions, the t-shirts and jewelry and blue, glittery eyeliner she wears at home is allowed. If Ben is able to maintain his hold on the monsters for ten, fifteen, or twenty minutes at a time, he can spend three hours in the shower after.

Teenagers aren't controlled as easily as children.

If Five keeps his insolence in check, the hours of afternoon that remain after he finishes his daily school work are his own to spend whatever way he wishes.

It's about fucking time.

Since he long ago surpassed the abilities of his tutor, it means he has a couple of hours to himself _every_ afternoon.

He establishes a routine with Vanya.

He goes to the library in the city, she has Pogo take her there as soon as she is released from school at three in the afternoon, and they have nearly two hours of privacy. There aren't cameras in the library. They can find chairs in a corner, and read in comfort, or claim a table, and complete their homework, or visit the Starbucks that's down the street, get a coffee for him, a tea for her, and a muffin to split, and talk freely about whatever they want.

They're at the library when Five sees the shiny pink sheen on her lips.

It's a reminder that concessions aren't silently, slowly being made for Vanya, because she already has a freedom the rest of them are denied.

He should be happy for her.

She leaves the table to fetch a book on a composer for her essay, and she hasn't been gone very long when he hears a laugh.

It's _her_.

He glances over his shoulder.

She is standing a little ways away with a boy. He's a large, beefy kid with curly blonde hair, and he is talking to Vanya with a familiarity he surely hasn't earned, eager, and animated. But if her smile is anything to go by, she doesn't seem bothered by the liberties he's taking.

Five has half a mind to interrupt the two of them, but he tightens his grip on his pen, and resists.

It's another several minutes before she returns to the table with a book under her arm.

"Who was that?" he asks.

She blinks. "Michael? He goes to school with me."

"He's a friend?"

" _Michael_?"

"Yes," he says, irritated. "Michael. He's a friend of yours?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Michael is one of those people who's just nice to everyone. He saw me, and he said hi, because he recognized me. Trust me, he wouldn't be friends with someone like me." Her hair falls in front of her face. "He's nice, though."

He clenches his jaw.

There's a lot he _could_ say. _He talked to you for quite a while, which doesn't imply he was just being friendly. If you think he's such a great,_ nice _person, why have you never mentioned him before? He touched your arm, so you'll forgive me for imagining you might be more than acquaintances._ He won't be nasty to her, but he's tempted.

There's a hot, heavy anger in his chest that he does not care to examine.

Unfortunately, that isn't the end of Michael.

"Hey, V." He approaches the table. "Some of us are going out later to this bar that'll serve us if you want to come."

She stares.

"Your friend can come, too, if you want."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do _less_ ," Five says.

"O— _kay_."

"I—I have a curfew," Vanya says.

"Yeah?" He gives her a look of sympathy. "That's too bad. I guess I'll see you at school. Good luck with your paper." He smiles.

She nods.

He leaves.

She drops her gaze to the table, but she looks up after a beat to watch him disappear, and when she brings her attention to the table again, Five is unimpressed.

"V?" he repeats.

She sighs. "He's one of those people who gives nicknames. I don't know. He just started doing it, and now it's been so long, it would be weird to tell him to stop." She shrugs.

"Should _I_ call you that?"

"What? No. My name is Vanya."

"If you don't like it, you should tell him you don't like it."

"I'm not going to do that. Most people at school don't pay any attention to me. It's nice to have someone who says hello to me in the hallway. It doesn't matter what he calls me."

"Whatever, _V._ "

"Five!"

"If he gets to call you that, I do, too."

"I have no problem telling _you_ not to call me that," she says, matter-of-fact.

"But if I choose not to listen, I don't see what you can do about it. Can I borrow your pencil, V? Mine needs sharpening, and you know I can't write with a dull instrument."

She narrows her eyes. "Fine, _Peter_." She offers her pencil to him.

He glares.

"I don't see what you can do about it," she says, light.

He sucks his teeth. "You win this round, _Vanya_." He plucks the pencil from her hand.

She smiles. It's a kind of smile that's reserved for him, because it's bright and honest and unafraid. She smiles, and he has to suppress a smile of his own in response.

It doesn't matter if _Michael_ says hi to her in the hallways at school.

 _She's mine_ , he thinks.

He might have suffered few interactions with the general teenage population, but that doesn't mean he's oblivious. It makes perfect sense. He knows that Vanya is pretty, and that her softness can make her seem especially sweet. He won't deny that he's wanted to brush his fingers over the curl of her long dark eyelashes, that his gaze has lingered on her collarbone, that he's noticed the soft white skin of her thighs when her skirt rides up. He knows that Vanya is _desirable._ Why wouldn't Michael want more than a hello in the hallway from her? He understands, and he does not like it.

But he doesn't need to worry that Vanya will fall prey to the likes of a simpleton like that.

She is better than that.

They walk home that afternoon, because it's one of those cool, sunny spring days that's meant for walks.

"I liked the chapstick," he says.

She blinks.

He is supposed to spend the time that's his own on things that _matter_ , on how he's going to stop the apocalypse, and _save the world_ , on how he's going to travel through time again safely to do it.

But when he's alone in the dark of his room at night, he isn't going through equations in his head.

He's got his hand in his boxers, and he's remembering the smear of her sticky pink chapstick on her chin after she tried to wipe it off, and he's got a mess to clean up.

\---

He's been drunk before. In the future, he found a cellar of wine that hadn't been touched by the end of the world. He liked the sweet, rich red wines the best, and the more he drank, the better they tasted.

He must have spent days in that cellar, drinking in a desperate, drunk stupor.

Now that the world isn't over, he sees no reason to drink.

The others feel differently than he does.

The very first time they're a team without Reginald at the helm, they're sixteen, and they're drunk.

It happens like this.

They sneak away from the house for donuts, which is an old, favorite activity they haven't done together in a while. And, on this breezy summer night, they follow up donuts with 40s after Allison hears a rumor that a man outside the 7/11 wants to use this twenty to buy some alcohol for them. They wander down the road to where picnic tables are set up, and decide to call it home for a night.

Five isn't going to drink cheap, gas station beer.

"What about you?" Klaus says, offering a bottle to Vanya.

She takes it.

He whoops and grins at her while she takes a sip. She coughs. He pounds her back, takes another swig for himself, and presses it back into her hands.

She ends up drinking a lot.

She dances with Klaus at his request, because he is singing some stupid pop song off-key at the top of his lungs, and she finds it hilarious, and he swings her around so fast it makes her stumble, but he catches her before she falls.

But when Ben distracts Klaus with the claim that he can spit a loogie the farthest, Vanya collapses happily on the bench where Five sits.

"You're having a good night," he observes.

"I _am_." She wrinkles her nose with a smile. "Dancing is _fun._ " She scoots until she is pressed up against his side, arm to arm and hip to hip and thigh to thigh. "I like you, too."

He thinks he follows that line of thought.

She's wearing Allison's clothes.

She had been startled when after Klaus had informed Five they were going to Griddy's, he had turned to where Vanya sat on the sofa, and extended the invitation to her. "I . . . Me? I—I don't have anything to wear." She had looked at Five like she wanted him to deal with this for her, and he was about say they didn't have to go if she didn't want to, but Klaus had shooed her upstairs with reassurances that Allison had plenty of clothes to share.

She looks a little bit ridiculous in clothes that clearly aren't meant for her. The jeans are too long for her height, and the silky purple shirt gapes at her chest, and the sweater hangs awkwardly off her shoulders. She hasn't got Allison's stature, or style.

It's cute.

She swings her legs and turns in toward him, pressing her face to his shoulder, and taking a sniff _._

"Are you _smelling_ me?"

She glances up, presses her lips together to hide her smile, and leans in again, sniffing him loudly, and when she giggles, he feels the heat of her breath on his neck.

"You are _drunk_."

"I _know_!" She nuzzles her nose against his cheek.

He heaves a sigh, and wraps an arm around her shoulders to draw her securely into his side.

The others are drinking a lot, too.

Klaus is _wasted_ , and Ben is singing under his breath to himself, and Diego is drinking the entirety of a 40 by himself.

Luther has disappeared with Allison.

Klaus opens another of the 40s.

It's passed from person to person. After she takes a sip, Vanya offers Five the bottle. He can't resist the joy that radiates from her, and he grips the bottle, takes a swig, and lets her laugh at the face he makes.

He drinks more after that, though he doesn't try keeping up with the others.

Vanya stays warm at his side, leaning her weight on him, and giggling at everything that everyone says with a charming, childlike innocence.

"I wish we could be this way forever," Vanya says.

"Drunk?"

"Together." She looks at him with big, bright eyes, with a flush in her cheeks and her sweet little nose and lips that are especially red. "Don't you like it when we're together?"

He swallows. "I might," he says.

Some distant, discerning part of him reminds him he's drunk. He can't bring himself to care. In that moment, the much larger part of him is overcome with sudden, certain _want_ , and he doesn't see why he should deny himself.

He looks at her mouth.

She kisses him on the cheek. She giggles. She kisses him on the jaw, and at the corner of his eye, and on the side of his nose.

His heart is jackhammering on the cage of his ribs.

"Somebody is going to hurl!"

Five's gaze snaps to his drunk, dumb friends. Klaus is laughing like a manic, and Diego is going on an angry, drunk rant about Reginald that nobody is listening to, and Ben is throwing up _profusely_ in a bush. Five can't imagine _this_ is what Vanya wants to live in forever.

"I have to pee," Vanya says, loud.

He glances at her. "We can't go back to the store. You're a clearly inebriated teenager. They'll call the cops on you in a heartbeat." That would be a particularly _delightful_ conversation to have with their psychotic, control freak of a father.

"I'll go in the woods!"

"What?" He laughs. "No."

She is already on her feet. "I'll be right, right back!" To be fair, she only trips once before she disappears into the line of trees.

He watches her go in amusement.

"Do you know what I hate the _most_?" Diego says, beer sloshing from the bottle in his hand.

"Enlighten me."

"He knows how much we hate him, and he does not _give a shit_. What kind of fucked up asshole doesn't care when his children _despise_ him? He treats us like we aren't real people, like we don't have opinions, or _feelings_ , or—like we don't have—have—have—"

"Agency?" Five says.

"What?"

"Autonomy?"

There's a scream from the woods.

Five pushes immediately to his feet. That was Vanya. He exchanges a glance with Diego, and both of them take off for the woods at a sprint.

He curls his hands into his fists, and starts to jump his way through the trees. It's a mistake. He stumbles a couple of times, and he nearly jumps directly into a tree, because he's _drunk_ , but he can't slow down.

They aren't far.

He processes that there are three of them, that they've been drinking, that Vanya is backed up against a tree, and one of them is half on top of her, and they are _laughing_.

He reacts.

He jumps onto the back of the man who's pinned her against a tree.

"What the _fuck_?"

"Five!"

"Is that a _kid_?"

The man struggles to throw him off, but he's got the man in a headlock, and another man smashes a bottle of beer into the back of his head, but he ignores the shock of pain, and with a clench of his jaw, he twists the head in his grasp until he hears the snap of a neck.

"You little shit!"

He stumbles when his feet hit the ground, jumps in time to avoid a swing from a man, and reappears to watch the man fall to the ground with a knife in his back.

Klaus tugs Vanya behind him.

Someone starts shooting. He jumps before a bullet hits his chest. It's the third, final man. Ben comes blundering through the line of trees with vomit on his shirt. The man has a gun on him immediately. But, in the blink of an eye, some terrifying, tentacled monster emerges, tears the head off the man, and sends it flying, and before the man's body hits the ground, the monster is gone.

It's silent.

Ben goes pale, and throws up again.

Where is Vanya?

She is crying, and trying to tug up her jeans, but her hands are shaking too much, so Klaus is trying to help, and he isn't doing much better.

"Are you alright?" Diego says, taking a step towards her.

She nods.

Klaus squats in front of her to button her jeans for her.

That's when Luther bursts from the darkness with Allison at his heels. "What the hell is going on?" He gapes at the scene in front of him.

"We handled it," Diego says.

"You—" He gestures at the bodies in front of them. "People are dead! Those—you _killed_ them! That isn't handled!"

"We had to," Ben said.

"They were going after Vanya," Diego says.

"What?" Allison's gaze snaps to Vanya. "Are you okay?"

"I . . ."

"Our little Vanya went for a wee in the woods," Klaus says, "and these three _pubic hairs_ went after her."

She nods.

"Why did you go off on your own like that?" Luther asks.

"I—"

"You can't protect yourself!"

She wilts under his glare.

Five jumps directly in front of Luther. "Say it's her fault." He bares his teeth.

"Five." Luther frowns.

"Say it's her fault she was _attacked_ ," he hisses.

"That isn't what—"

" _Say_ it."

"Nobody is saying it's her fault," Allison says.

"I'm sorry," Vanya says again. "I was stupid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been drinking so much. I . . ."

"Hey, now." Klaus lays a hand to her shoulder. "You were just having a bit of fun." He pats her shoulder in the best approximation of physical affection any of them are capable of. "It's allowed."

"Let's just call it a night, okay?" Allison says. "It's over."

"We can't just leave the bodies," Diego says.

"Can't we?" Ben asks, the start of a whine in his voice.

"Even if the police don't make a fuss about them, Dad will," Diego says. "We can't just leave them here. He'll find out. We don't need him grilling us about it."

"I'll tell him what happened," Luther says.

"Right," Five says. "And have him accuse Vanya of being responsible just like you did? No. This is none of his business, so you'll keep your mouth shut about it."

"He needs to know."

"Why?" Allison says.

Five isn't going to validate this discussion. "Three grown men just tried to _rape_ your sister," he snarls. "The least you can do is _pretend_ to give a shit. Or do you really care more about _Dad_ than you care about the rest of us? Because if ever there were a time to pick a side, it's now." He is out of patience for Luther's blind, masochistic loyalty to Reginald.

"We can put it to a vote," Klaus says.

Luther is quiet.

"Whatever," Diego says. "I'm putting the bodies in the ditch that's up there. I'll go into town after, and get a shovel. I'll bury them." He starts to pick up one of the men by the shoulders. "The rest of you can fuck off if you want."

Vanya rushes forward to grab the man by the feet.

"Vanya . . ." Luther says, pained.

"Hey," Allison says. "Hey, hey, hey." She moves to touch Vanya's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"No," Allison says. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's okay. We're going to bury the bodies. All of us. We're going to clean up this mess like the fucked up family we are."

That's what they do.

Allison is the one to get the shovels while the rest of them wait anxiously in the dark of the woods.

And when she returns, they bury the bodies in messy, shallow graves.

Allison has bandages for Five, too.

"Good luck hiding that gash from Dad," she says, tossing the package at him.

He touches a hand to the back of his head, and winces, because, she's right, and his fingers are shiny with bright red blood from where the beer bottle broke on his skull.

That's when he catches Vanya's eye.

She approaches him hesitantly. The others haven't really allowed her to help with the bodies, pushing her away gently whenever she tries. Her shoulders have caved in over the course of the hour, and she's a ghost of herself now, taking the bandages from him wordlessly.

He's witnessed her being this shy, anxious, and docile before.

She's just never been this way with _him._

"Thanks," he murmurs.

She nods.

"You're okay?" he asks, because he has to ask.

"I'm fine. I—I had just finished—but I hadn't even pulled up my jeans yet when they appeared, and I . . ." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He says it viciously, and it makes her look at him. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

She nods. But she doesn't say anything. She pulls her sleeve up over the heel of her hand to wipe gently at the blood that coats the back of his head. He grits his teeth while she works. She applies the bandage, and her fingers pet his hair a little to assess for injuries. "Done." She lifts her gaze.

He pushes her hair away from her face to tuck it behind her ear. She bites her lip. He rubs the ends of her hair behind his fingers, trying to find the words she needs to hear.

She wipes at her cheek, because she's started quietly crying again.

He hugs her.

It's enough. Her whole body shudders against him, and she sinks into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist, and holding him tightly, hiding her face. It makes something fierce burn hotly in his chest.

She's small in his arms. He had a growth spurt recently, and he's a whole head taller than her now. She's tougher than she looks, but she seems especially fragile now.

 _I'll never let anyone hurt you,_ he thinks.

Klaus hugs Vanya suddenly from behind with arms that stretch to circle Five's waist, too.

"I'm drunk," Klaus says.

It makes a little, choked laugh bubble up out of Vanya.

"If you're done with your little group cuddle, can we go?" Diego says.

"Yes, _please_ ," Allison says.

They leave.

They've never been a real, actual family. This is the closest they've come to acting like they are. It figures they'd never talk about it again.

\---

It isn't long after their night of carefree, drunken revelry gone wrong that Reginald decides he's been too lenient with them of late.

They come downstairs for breakfast, and, instead, are made to line up against the wall. Reginald has a look on his face that would have terrified them when they were kids. He stands with his hands behind his back, and watches them intently until all of them are lined up.

He walks slowly down the line. "Do you know why you're here?" He stops in front of Luther.

"You bought us?" Klaus says.

He turns his head sharply to look at Klaus.

Klaus is silent.

"You are here to discuss the inappropriate, unapproved _fraternization_ that's _rampant_ in this house."

Klaus raises his hand.

" _What_?"

"Is this about Luther loving Allison more than he loves the rest of us?"

"You are _such_ an idiot," Allison says.

"Because I don't think the rest of us should be punished for that. Am I right? Show of hands."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Luther says.

"Yeah, right," Diego says.

"It isn't like the two of you are very good about being subtle," Five says.

" _Seriously_?" Allison says, rounding on him. "You want to talk about subtle? How about who _you_ choose to play favorites with, Number Five? You think nobody knows about _that_?"

"You're implying I have a secret. I don't. Everyone knows Vanya is my favorite."

"Wow," Klaus says. "Hurtful."

"You're my favorite," Ben says, patting his arm.

"Enough!" Reginald glares furiously at them. "This is about the fact that _all_ of you need to focus your energies on your _duty_ to me, to the Academy, and to _the world_! I will not allow you to _waste_ your energies on absurdly inconsequential matters! This is about the fact that I have raised you to be _great_ , and you are becoming _utter_ disappointments!"

Nobody has the guts to say a word.

"You will no longer allow unchecked teenage hormones to determine your behavior, and I believe I have already made _extremely_ clear how I feel about your petty, childish squabbles, and if I am witness to another, I assure you consequences will be immediate, and they will be _permanent_!" He glowers at each of them in turn. "Have I made myself clear?"

There's a chorus of "yes, sir" in reply.

"Training will begin early today." He places his hands behind his back. "You have ten minutes to eat your breakfast."

They sit at the table, and their mother serves them breakfast in hurried, anxious silence. Reginald isn't eating. They haven't been shoveling the food into their mouths for very long when he loses it again.

"Number Seven!"

The egg on her fork slips off slowly to hit her plate.

"What is that on your mouth?"

She opens her mouth, and closes it. "It's . . ." She can't actually make herself say it.

"Come."

She moves to her feet, and she doesn't look at any of them.

The moment she's within his reach, he grabs her chin. "Ridiculous." He pulls her down to drag his napkin over her mouth, and he continues to wipe at her mouth with a snarl on his face until he's satisfied, and he releases her.

She doesn't try returning to her seat. She can't. She needs his permission to leave his side.

"Makeup! Jewelry! Cologne!" He slams his fist on the table. "I have not raised a brood of vain, frivolous brats! Do you understand me? I don't want to see any of you _gussied up_ again! You represent the best of humanity! I will not have you give the world the impression you are silly, self-obsessed _children_!"

Nobody says anything.

"You have three minutes to finish your breakfast," he says.

Vanya is forced to remain at his elbow.

Three minutes later, they are sent to the gymnasium to begin their morning fitness regime.

\---

She is already in bed when he jumps into her room that night. It's late, because he thought it best to exercise some caution. She holds up a sheet for him to slide in beside her.

He thinks it'll be a night when they don't really talk.

She surprises him. "Do you think he knows we left the house that night?" She is close, on her side, and turned to him, her hand under her cheek.

"I think Klaus was right," he says.

"Klaus?"

"Yesterday was Saturday. That's when we have free time. I'll bet you anything he saw his perfect toy solider with Allison, and he's pissed." Vanya shouldn't have suffered the consequences of that, but Reginald has never been a fair, reasonable man. "They should have been more cautious."

"I guess."

It's quiet.

"Do you—do you think it's wrong?"

"What?"

"That they like each other that way? Do you think it's wrong? Is that why Dad is angry with them?"

He scoffs. "He doesn't care about _that_. He knows that we're students at a deranged boarding school. He cares that he isn't in control. That he didn't carefully plan for them to like each other that way. He cares that even if he wanted to, he can't actually stop it." It gives Five a kind of sick, vindictive satisfaction to know.

"Seems to me like he can stop them," she says.

" _Them_ , maybe."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that Luther cares about Reginald's opinion, and he might actually ignore his feelings for Allison if dear old dad tells him he has to." Some small, childish part of Five might still be cowed by Reginald on occasion, but _he_ won't allow Reginald to decide the course of his life. "The rest of us don't have Luther's blind loyalty."

"Yeah," she says, soft.

He hesitates. They are face to face on her bed, and it would be easy to close the distance that separates them. He can feel the heat of her breath when she sighs. "I refuse to give the asshole a say in _my_ relationships." From this angle, the moonlight through her window cuts a swath across her face, and she is glowing with the light.

"Is that why you're so nice to me?" There's a smile in her voice. "Is it to stick it to the man?"

"I'm nice to you because you're _you_."

"I'm _me_?"

"You're . . ." He swallows. "The seven of us . . . we might be as close to family as any of us will ever get, but that doesn't mean we can't define the kind of relationships we want."

"What do you want?"

"I want . . ." He stares at her through the dark. "I think you know what I want."

She touches the line of his jaw. The tips of her fingers are warm, and it's such a ghost of a touch, it makes him shiver a little. She holds his gaze, and he's certain she feels what he feels.

He kisses her.

It's a hard, fast press of his lips to her mouth. He's never kissed anyone before, and he pulls away after to see her reaction. It's immediate. She cups his cheek, and closes the distance again, kissing him messily. It's a wet, unpracticed kiss, and he returns it enthusiastically, pressing in closer and licking at her lips and pushing his tongue into her mouth.

He's breathing hard when they break apart at last.

She wipes at her mouth, and when their eyes meet in the dark, she giggles, and she uses her thumb to wipe the spit off his face, too.

Under the sheet, he wraps an arm around her waist to bring her soft, warm body flush against his.

She rubs her nose against his nose.

He kisses her.

She grasps at his shoulder, and he shifts to press her against the mattress. The more he has of her, the more he wants. She cards her fingers through his hair, and he moves on top of her, planting his knees in the mattress, and caging her between his legs.

He starts to unbutton the top of her pajamas.

She slips her hands up the back of his own, matching pajama top to palm at his back.

He tears himself away from her mouth to open her top. _Fuck._ He goes impossibly hard at the sight of her soft, pale belly and her breasts, at the sight of her rosy pink nipples, and he pushes his hands up her stomach to cup her breasts.

She breathes in sharply.

He looks up. "I want to have sex," he says.

"Okay," she says.

He kisses her, drags his mouth to her neck, and leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses in a line down her throat.

She starts to pull at his shirt, and he breaks away again to help her tug it off. They undress in a hurry, pulling at clothes and exchanging quick, sloppy kisses and fumbling in the dark. She pushes her underwear past her hips, and he takes over eagerly, pulling her underwear down her legs, and off.

He runs a hand up the back of her calf.

He drops a kiss to the side of her knee, and to the inside of her thigh, and to the crease of her hip.

She grips his shoulder. He glances up. She is staring at him with dark, glassy eyes.

He pushes up slightly to press a kiss to her mouth.

"I have a condom," she breathes.

He blinks.

She shifts away from him to reach for something in the table by her bed. It's a condom. She displays the small silver square between her fingers. "Do you remember that time when Klaus was pelting them at everyone?" She bites her lip.

"You _kept_ one?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "I figured it might come in handy," she says.

He grins.

"I got it for you."

"Good."

"I—I love you." She curls her fingers around his arm. "I . . . is that okay?"

He kisses her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

"You're mine," he says.

He can't stop touching her. He's addicted. He squeezes her breast, and rubs her nipple with his thumb, pulls at it, and relishes in the noises she makes, skates a hand down her stomach, and lets it slide to cup the heat between her legs.

"You've always been mine."

The pads of her fingers are pressing hard against his arm; they're going to leave a mark.

He rubs his finger over her slit, and she releases a breathy little whimper, clapping a hand to her mouth to cover it. He pulls her hand away and kisses her roughly. He's imagined this, has gotten himself off half a hundred times imagining it, and she isn't going to hide a single soft sound from him.

He doesn't know what he's doing, but he's always learned quickly.

He thumbs at her clit, and she grabs a fistful of his hair in answer, making a little "oh!" noise that goes straight to his cock. He pushes the tip of his finger into her, listening to the hitches in her breath, to her whimpers, to the sound of her sudden, sharp gasps. He, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles against her clit, and she breathes his name.

He plunges his finger into her.

"You'll always _be_ mine," he says.

She nods.

He's hard, and he's desperate to take his cock in his hand, but he's doing this first. He fucks her with his finger, and when she starts to shift her hips against his hand, he lets her, and he mouths at her neck, curling his finger, and thumbing at her clit, relishing in the small, wrecked noises she makes.

She arches up off the bed when she comes.

He watches it wash over her face, and he's struck with a kind of fierce, possessive fondness. She goes limp against the bed, and he can't wait any longer. He shifts to his knees, stroking his erection.

She opens her eyes, and when she meets his gaze, a slow, sweet smile he's never seen before spreads across her face.

He takes the condom from where it's clutched in her fist, and tears the wrapper with his teeth.

She rests a warm, damp hand on his thigh.

He rolls on the condom, and moves in between her legs, hiking up her thigh. She grips at his arms. He nudges at her opening with the head of his cock, and after a hitch of her breath, she nods.

He pushes in.

_Fuck._

They are doing this again. They are doing this _a lot._ They are never going to _stop_ doing this.

"Vanya."

She pets at his hair. "I'm okay," she breathes.

He kisses her roughly, and pulls out, thrusting in again. She hugs his neck, and he starts to fuck her with quick, unpracticed strokes, making the bed creak softly under them. He stares at her, at the low, dark flush in her cheeks and the way her lips are parted and the curl of hair that's stuck to her temple with sweat.

He shifts her leg to press in closer, and it makes her gasp, and tilt her hips, taking him deeper.

He drops his face to her neck.

"You're—" She curls a hand in his hair. "You're mine, too."

He growls, and with a last few wild, desperate thrusts, he comes.

Fuck.

He is shaking a little in her arms, but she brushes a hand up his back, and he kisses her collarbone, and her cheek, and her mouth.

They separate in a sticky, uncertain awkward shuffle of limbs.

It's easiest to jump to the bathroom, and he does, disposing of the condom, and grabbing a washcloth, holding it under the faucet, and returning to her with clean, damp towel in hand.

She is putting her arms through the sleeves of her pajamas. "Hi," she says, shy.

He kisses her. "Here." The washcloth is for her.

"Thanks." She blushes.

He moves to pull on his pajamas. It would be easy to collapse on the bed, to curl up around her, close his eyes, and fall to sleep in a matter of seconds, but this is the part where he returns to his room to sleep in his own cold, narrow bed. He can't risk being discovered here in the morning.

"Are—" She hesitates. "Are we going to do this again?"

"I want to," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Me, too."

It's quiet.

She slips her hand into his, and squeezes. "Goodnight," she says.

He jumps.

In his room, he collapses on the bed.

He's wanted that for longer than he's willing to admit.

He touches a hand to his mouth, and rolls to bury his face in his pillow. She took one of the condoms, and _saved_ it. He can hear her soft, sweet giggle in his ear, and there was that smile after he brought her over the edge with his finger, and he thinks of how she touched him with the greedy, searching hands of someone who knows exactly what she wants.

He sits up, and, after a beat, scrambles to his feet, and jumps.

"Five?" she says.

He plants a knee on the bend, slips a hand behind the back of her head, and kisses her.

She's pleased.

"Goodnight," he says, rough.

"Goodnight."

He leaves, and when he climbs under the covers of his bed at last, he finds it easier to fall to sleep than he would have thought.

\---

He hasn't forgotten those awful, nightmarish months he spent in the future. In fact, he's spent the last few years making plans because of the future he lived. He _has_ to stop the apocalypse from happening.

It means he's going to have to time travel again.

He's come to terms with the fact that the eye is useless in determining the cause of the apocalypse. Traveling through time is the only possible way for him to learn the cause, and be able to stop it.

He can't risk getting stuck, however.

To travel again safely, he needs unrestricted access to the best, most current scientific knowledge available.

He is working on it.

He got his G.E.D. when he was fourteen. He's published threes papers in peer reviewed science journals under a pseudonym. He is starting to apply to the best, most, scientifically-inclined universities in the U.S.

Once he's earned the degrees he needs, he'll find a position that allows him access to everything modern science knows about traveling through time.

He's shared his plans with Vanya in part.

She doesn't know that he's applying to colleges. She doesn't know that in his exploration of the house, he found Reginald's safe, risked jumping blind into it, and stole a fortune for himself from the stacks of cash. She doesn't know that he's leaving this house as soon as he's able.

Soon, though.

He is ready for bigger, better things, it's a matter of months before he'll leave, and when he goes, he is taking her with him.

\---

If he was attached to her before they fucked in her tiny twin bed, it's nothing to the way he feels _after_.

She is late to meet him at the library on Monday, and she's got a flush in her cheeks when she takes the seat that's next to him. He finds this odd, because they are creatures of habit, and she is supposed sit across the table. She is trying to suppress a smile, and failing, looking at him with a shine in her eyes.

"Hello," he says, suspicious.

She opens the backpack that's in her lap, and lets him take a peek. There's a box of condoms. She bites her lip when he looks at her again.

"You've gone shopping."

She zips up the backpack again.

He glances over his shoulder, but there is nobody in their usual, quiet corner of the library, and he cups her cheek to drag her close, kissing her.

They can't do more than kiss in the library, of course.

He makes himself wait for half an hour after curfew before he jumps to her room.

She opens her arms and he's on the bed in seconds. He tugs his shirt off, tossing it, and climbing on top of her, kissing her sloppily. She palms at his back, runs her hands up his stomach, and skates her fingers over his ribs, and when he presses a line of wet, sucking kisses to her neck, she breathes a laughs, and digs her fingers into the skin of his arms.

They pull at each other's clothes in a tangle of limbs.

He takes an elbow to the stomach, and his hand on the bed pulls her hair for a second, and he knocks his jaw into her nose.

She giggles.

He brushes his hands up the soft, pale skin on the inside of her thighs, spreading her legs, and it isn't until he ducks his head to get in closer that she grabs at his hair.

"Wait."

He glances up impatiently. "What?"

"You . . . are you going to—?" She squirms. "To—to do it with your—?"

"Mouth?"

She nods.

"That was my intention."

"Oh." Her grip on his hair is painful. "You—you don't have to."

He huffs. "I want to." He's thought about it. A lot. He's spent a ridiculously inordinate amount of time the last 24 hours thinking about it, in fact, and about everything he wants to do to her.

"You _want_ to?"

"Can I?"

She hesitates.

He rises up, and he kisses her, and he feels the tension leave her body. "I'll stop if you don't like it," he murmurs. He'd never do anything she didn't want him to do, and she must know he'd never do anything _he_ didn't want to do.

"Okay."

Her kisses her, and he slips his hand between her legs to tease at her opening with the pad of his finger.

She breathes in sharply.

He knows what she likes. He lowers his head to mouth at her breast, to scrape his teeth over her nipple, and make her shudder. He's a very fast learner.

He waits until she's started to shift her hips against the palm of his hand, until the press of her thumb to her clit has her drawing in quick, broken breathes, until she's losing her inhibition.

She gasps his name when he puts his mouth on her.

He licks at her opening, and revels in the soft, startled "oh!" she makes, swirls his tongue over her clit slowly at first, and with more certainty at the change in her breathing, at the way she pulls at his hair, and whispers his name, and he keep at it, fucking her with his tongue until she's coming.

She pulls at his shoulder, and he obliges, rising up, and kissing her.

He knew she'd like it.

She watches him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes while he rolls on the condom, and when he thrusts in.

He starts out slowly this time, clenching his jaw, and fisting a hand in the sheets, fucking her in slow, measured strokes. It's hard to stay in control when he's got her under him like this, though, when he shifts, and it makes her arch her back with a gasp of his name. He grits his teeth, and he picks up the pace, fucking her roughly, and burying his face in her neck when he comes.

 _She's a drug_ , he thinks.

He wants more, more, _more._ He wants to try it with her on top. He wants to try it from behind. He wants to try it with her up against the wall. He wants to try it every which way, and they're going to.

She plays with his hair when they're lying in the quiet after, combing it with her fingers, and scratching at his scalp with her short, dull nails, petting him.

He allows it.

She's the only person who's ever given him sweet touches like this, and she'll be the only one who ever will.

He stays until she falls to sleep.

In the morning, he sneaks a glance at her across the table at breakfast, and has to look away again.

He can see her hands from the corner of his eye, and he thinks of her hands in his hair and her hand around his cock and her hands on his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin.

The moment after they're sent to their rooms for the night, he's going to be back in that room with her.

\---

He learns about the boys at her school when he finds her at the library in the middle of a mess. She has her sheet music spread on the table in front of her, and she is trying to clean the music with damp, crumped paper towels from the restroom. He doesn't know what he's arrived to find, and he approaches the table with a frown, looking at her music.

"I dropped my folder in the mud," she explains.

There's a footprint on one. Another is torn. Every single paper looks ruined.

Her eyes are red. "I think I can salvage most of them." There's a loud, forced lightness in her voice, and if she thinks the way she's avoiding his gaze isn't suspect, she's wrong.

"If you dropped your folder in the mud, how did every single sheet get ruined?"

"It was windy."

He lays his hand on top of where she is trying to dust a bit of dirt off a page.

She goes still but does not look at him.

"You're lying to me."

She huffs, and when she looks at him now, it's with a glare. As far as glares go, it's weak. She is putting on a front of anger, but he knows her better than that. "Why would I lie to you?" She raises her eyebrows at him.

"You tell me."

"Fine." She looks away from him. "I'm lying. I didn't see why you needed to know. But if you insist, I'll tell you." She tries to dab at the stain of a large muddy footprint on a sheets with a tissue. "One of the boys at school took my folder at lunch, and he tossed it around to his friends, and they scatted the papers."

"In the mud? They _took_ your folder, and they scattered your music _in the mud?_ On purpose?"

"Yes."

He's furious. " _Why_?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "I'm a pretty easy target, I guess. I don't really have any friends, and I'm quiet, and I let it happen. I don't try putting up a fight. They'll leave me alone eventually. I can't imagine it's very much fun to bully someone when you don't get much of a reaction."

"Has this happened before?"

She shrugs.

"It has."

"They haven't done _this_. And don't say I'm lying to you. They've said mean stuff to me before, and they've done little, stupid stuff like trip me, because I guess Brian thinks that's funny, but they've never taken my stuff before." She starts to work on another, especially dirty piece of music. "It's not a big deal."

"They are _bullying_ you."

She ignores him.

"I'm going to kill them."

"No." She looks at him sharply. "You're not going to interfere."

"They're bullying you!"

"It happens. Okay? It _happens_ , and I don't need you showing up at my school, and making it worse."

"I won't make it worse," he says, offended.

"I need you to promise you'll leave it alone. Promise. I don't need you to show up to yell at the bullies for me like you're some angry parent."

"Vanya."

"Promise."

He purses his lips.

" _Promise_."

"I promise I will not interfere at your school to stop the _assholes_ who bully you."

"Thank you."

He isn't going to let it go. She has to know that's impossible. He's ready to tear those boys limb from limb, and he doubts she's told him the extent of the shit they've done to her.

She made him promise that he would not interfere.

Fine.

If that's the case, _he_ won't interfere.

 _They_ will.

He tells the others when they're doing their half an hour of required scholarly reading while they eat their lunch. They're meant to read silently, but their tutors long ago gave up trying to enforce that rule if Reginald isn't there to see them break it. He closes his book with a thud. "Boys at school are messing with Vanya." He looks at the group of them.

"What?" Luther says.

" _Vanya_?" Ben says.

"What do you mean by _messing with her_?" Diego says.

"She refused to discuss it, but I know of one, specific incident. They took one of her folders, and dumped it, scattering her music in the mud. She claims that's the worse they've done to her."

"Who would ever be mean to Vanya?" Klaus says.

"What can we do?" Ben says.

"They can't get away with that," Diego says.

"I agree," Five says.

"We need to show them exactly whose sister they're messing with."

"If you're suggesting we take a field trip to Vanya's school," Allison says, "I'm in."

"Me, too," Ben says.

"Do they kick puppies, too?" Klaus says.

"Hold on," Luther says. "When are we supposed to go to her school? We don't exactly have a lot of time to ourselves. Or do you think Dad would _let_ us take a trip into the city?"

"We could go right now," Diego says.

"Do you know how much trouble we'd get in?"

"What's he going to do? Yell at us? Be a dick? Tell us we're disappointments? How is that different than every other day?"

It's decided.

Diego is more than happy to drive the Rolls Royce.

They arrive at the school, and though the uniforms they're wearing are different from the uniforms the students at the school are required to wear, nobody really notices them when they stride in with the confidence of people with purpose.

There is the fact that they don't actually know who, exactly, they are here to have a conversation with.

That's easy enough to fix.

There's a girl in the hallway, and when Five jumps in front of her, her eyes go wide, and she backs up against the lockers.

"There is a group of _idiots_ at this school," Five says.

She opens her mouth, and closes it.

"Bullies," he says.

"I . . ."

"I believe one of them is named _Brian._ Do you know where I might find him? I'd like to have a chat with him."

"Do you mean—?" She glances at the others. "Do you mean Brian Whittaker?"

"Is he an asshole?" Diego says.

She nods.

"Then that's who we mean."

"Where is he?"

"He, um. It's lunch, so he's probably on the quad with his friends. He's popular."

"Take us there," Allison says.

The quad is a sprawling, grassy area at the back of the school that's walled in. Students are eating at tables, sitting by the big, stone fountains, and throwing around Frisbees in the sunshine. It looks like the picture in a brochure.

"Where is Whittaker?"

She points to large, center table where a group of boys are laughing. "He's the blonde," she says. She looks like she's going to go on, but she bites her lip, and is silent.

They don't need anything more from her, however.

"Five!"

He snaps his gaze from the blonde to Vanya. She is hurrying to them. He can't help but smile at her, because this is convenient.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, low.

"We heard what's been going on," Diego says.

She glances at him.

"We're here to put a stop to it."

"You're welcome," Klaus says, clapping her on the shoulder.

"I . . ." She returns her gaze to Five. "No. No, no, no. You shouldn't be here. It's okay. I don't need your help."

"You should have told us you were being bullied," Luther says.

She looks at him like he's grown another head.

"Are we going to do this, or what?" Allison says, narrowing her eyes at the table of the boys.

" _No_ ," Vanya says.

"You don't want us to?" Ben says, concerned.

"Hey!" Diego is already on his way to the table. "Which of you is _Brian?"_

Most of the table goes quiet at his approach. "Who wants to know?" asks a boy, blonde and handsome and wearing a smug little smile. There's a murmur at the table, and if anyone is intimidated by the approach of angry teenage superheroes, they don't show it.

"I do," Diego says. "See that girl?" He points a finger at where Vanya stands.

"Hargreeves?" says the boy.

"I heard you've been messing with her."

"So?"

Five is going to beat that smile off his face with the cheap blue plastic lunch tray on the table in front of him.

"You're going to stop," Luther says, an edge in his voice.

"Yeah?" Brian says.

" _Yeah_."

"Who are you guys again?" Brian grins. "Is this like the teen vigilante squad for weird, dorky girls?"

"Funny," Diego says, and he punches the kid in the face.

Half of the table leaps up immediately.

"You think you can mess with _my_ sister?" Diego says. "You want to try me?"

"What the _hell_?" Brian has a hand at his nose to staunch the flow of blood, but it's spilling through his fingers. "You want to fight, asshole?"

Five jumps right behind him, and when Brian swings a leg over the bench, Five is there to sink a fist into his stomach.

There's a scream.

It seems the students at Vanya's fancy music school aren't familiar with the faces of The Umbrella Academy.

"What the fuck?! Who are you random fucking pyschos?! _What the fuck_?!"

Another of the boys at the table tries to take a swing at Klaus, but Klaus is quick to duck, and Luther lands a hit in reply that sends the boy careening to the table.

"You're looking at The Umbrella Academy, jackass," Diego says.

He gapes.

"I heard a rumor," Allison says, tilting her head with a smile, "that you pissed your pants."

Something damp spreads across the front of his trousers. It starts a murmur of shock that's mixed with laughter. Brian's eyes widen with horror, and he looks from Allison to his pants to Allison.

"And if you as much as _look_ at my sister again, I might hear some more things about you."

"You . . ." He shakes his head. "Okay! Whatever. _Okay_." He looks at the rest of them, at Diego and at Five and at Luther. "I swear, okay!"

"Good," Five says.

The timing is perfect, because that's when they notice a group of adults on the way through the quad to them.

"Time to go!" Klaus says.

They aren't going to escape that easily, unfortunately.

It's a long, messy afternoon after that.

Reginald is called.

He manages to whisk them away from the school with a lot of yelling, and Five is mildly concerned about Reginald's anger only in that he doesn't want Vanya to suffer the consequences of actions they took on her behalf.

She doesn't.

But, at home, _they_ are lectured for hours.

It's the loud, furious kind of lecture they haven't been subjected to in years. He isn't his usual calm, cold self. Spit flies from his mouth while he rants at them, and when Diego starts to say that it was for Vanya, Reginald smacks Diego across the face so violently it makes him stagger into the wall.

By the time he's finished, it's way past dinner, and they are sent to bed without it.

It's fine.

Five is going to jump to the kitchen to get a sandwich as soon as he's sure Reginald is squirreled away safely in his study.

For now, he goes to talk to Vanya.

She is practicing her violin when he jumps into the room. It isn't actually past curfew, so the room is lit with the warm yellow light of her lamp, and she doesn't bat an eye when he sprawls on her bed. She finishes the piece she is working on, and lowers the violin with a look on her face he can't quite read.

"How was the rest of your day?" he asks.

She turns away from him to place her violin in the case. "Why did you tell the others?" Her voice is flat.

"I had to. Well, I suppose I didn't _have_ to. I _wanted_ to."

She is silent.

"They were ready to stand up for you as soon as I told them," he adds.

It was odd, in a way. He told them she was kidnapped, and they didn't bat an eye, but they were ready to go to war when he told them boys were bullying her. It wasn't what he expected.

He supposes they're more restless under Reginald's thumb now than they were a couple of years ago.

"You said you weren't going to interfere," she says.

He sighs.

"You _promised_ me."

"Technically, I promised _I_ wouldn't interfere, and _I_ didn't. _We_ did. And I'm glad we did, because someone needed to put those idiots in their place."

"But I asked you not to!"

He stares.

She _shouted_ at him.

"Vanya," he says.

"I wanted you to leave it alone," she says. "And you _said_ you would. You _promised_. But you turned right around, and did it anyway."

"I don't . . . Did you _like_ being bullied? I thought you'd be happy we put a stop to it."

"I _liked_ . . . I liked that I—I was just like everyone else, I was normal, and unextraordinary, and that was okay, because that made me just like everyone else."

"You _aren't_ like everyone else," he says. "You're _better._ "

"Why?"

"What?"

"Is it because I have special, more important siblings? Is that it? I'm important because _you're_ important?"

"That isn't what I'm saying."

"Everything always has to be about the Umbrella Academy. Nobody at school even realized that I was one of you, or that I was _not_ one of you. I was just my own person there, and maybe I didn't have a lot of friends, but I wasn't _completely_ an outcast like I am here, and you ruined that."

He's nonplussed. "Vanya, I—"

"And I don't want to be the poor, pathetic girl that the rest of you have to take pity on, and look after."

"That's not what happened."

"It is, though!"

He has no idea what to say. She's never been upset with him before. He doesn't even entirely understand _why_ she's upset, but she is _shouting_ at him, and she's got this look on her face, and she is wiping at tears that, apparently, _he_ put on her cheeks.

"You don't understand," she says.

"If I don't understand, _explain_ it to me."

She shakes her head. "You're—you're _spectacular_ , Five." Her eyes well with tears again. "You have no idea what it's like not to be. You have no idea what it's like. . . .You have no idea what it's like to be a waste of space." She looks away from him.

"You're not _a waste of space_ ," he says, incredulous. " _Vanya_." He stands.

She shrugs away from his touch.

"I was trying to help."

"Can you leave?" She crosses her arms. "Please?"

"Vanya."

"I know you were just trying to help." She sniffs. "I get it. But I just really want to be by myself right now. I'd like you to leave."

"I'm sorry," he says.

She ignores him.

He leaves.

The moment he shuts the door, he hears her release a sob.

He wants to storm in again. He wants to grab her, and shake her. He wants to make her listen to him.

Why can't she see that he was trying to _help_?

He isn't the person who makes Vanya upset. He's the opposite. He's the person who makes it better.

When they were six, he caught a cricket in a box for her because their new, robot mother had killed the cricket in her room that she was keeping for a pet, and she was inconsolable. When they were nine, he stabbed Diego in the thigh with one of his old, custom throwing stars because Diego told Vanya nobody liked her, and made her cry. When they were fourteen, he stayed the night in her bed with her because she was having awful nightmares of the suits who kidnapped her, and he had to hold her until she fell to sleep again with damp, bloodshot eyes.

He goes to his room.

He thought she would be happy at the way all of them had rushed to stand up for her, to tell the world that she was one of them.

He can't just sit in his room like this.

He wanders.

Allison is painting her nails in her room. She's got headphones on, and is bobbing her head to the music. Allison is a girl, and the peacemaker of the group, too.

He waits in the doorway until she notices he's there.

"I have a problem."

She raises her eyebrows.

He considers that an invitation. Her room reeks of her personality. He's never actually been in there, he realizes.

"I didn't know you had problems you couldn't fix yourself," she says.

"Vanya is mad at me."

"You? Vanya is mad at _you_? Her perfect, flawless golden boy?"

He glares.

"What did you do?"

"I _helped_."

"If you helped, why is she mad at you?"

He sighs. "She didn't want us to interfere at her school."

"I thought they were bullying her." She frowns. "She asked for your help."

"She didn't, actually. They _were_ bullying her, but she told me she'd handle it. She made me promise not to interfere, and I said I wouldn't, but I didn't say _we_ wouldn't. I figured she'd be grateful after, and that she was just making me promise not to interfere because she didn't want to be a burden. Apparently, I was wrong."

"Aw," Allison says. "Who knew you being an asshole who thinks he knows better than everyone would have consequences?"

"She'll forgive me," he says.

"Uh-huh."

He scoffs. "You're useless." He doesn't know why he thought Allison might have some insight. She couldn't be more the opposite of Vanya, and the two of them have never been close. He'll fix this by himself.

"Hey," she says.

He pauses.

"Did she tell you why she didn't want us to help her?"

"Sort of."

She arches an eyebrow. "And?"

He hesitates. He wants Allison's opinion, but it feels like a betrayal of Vanya's confidence if he tells her everything Vanya shouted at him. He might have upset her, but the very fact that she allowed him to know she was upset is proof that she trusts him. He doubts she would have exploded on Allison the way that she exploded on him. He can't violate her trust like that.

"Did you apologize to her at least?"

"Obviously."

"I wouldn't say that's obvious when it's _you_ we're talking about."

"Do you have any actually _useful_ advice?"

"Give her space?"

That isn't what he wanted to hear. "Original," he says, flat. If that's the best she can do, this was a waste of time.

She shakes her head. "You're such an ass, Five." She says it like he amuses her. He's told that often by his siblings, in fact. He's a jerk, he's an ass, he's a know-it-all. He isn't bothered in the least, because he knows exactly what he is: he is irritated by stupidity.

He returns to his room, picks a book off the shelf, and tries to focus on something that doesn't completely aggravate him.

The plan is to give her space for the night.

At a little past midnight, he abandons the plan. It was a bad plan anyway. In a show of respect for her space, he doesn't jump directly into her room.

He walks down the hallway, gives a single, soft knock, and opens the door to slip in.

It's past curfew now, so, of course, the lights are off, and she is under the covers. He sits on the edge of the bed. The soft, steady sound of her breathing in sleep is absent, so he knows she's awake.

He struggles to find the words he needs to say.

She's made it clear she isn't searching for an apology. She knows he was trying to help. She is angry because he didn't listen to her, and because the others have made her feel less than, have made her feel worthless, and weak, and, today, he made her feel that way, too.

Right?

He's thought about this a lot in the last few hours.

"You listen to me," he starts. "You always have. I used to hate the way that Reginald never took me seriously, or listened to what I had to say. You made up for that, though."

She's quiet.

"I should have listened to you. I'm sorry. I should have—I should have listened to you."

That doesn't get a reply from her either.

"Vanya . . ." He swallows. "I need you. You can't be mad at me. I _need_ you."

She turns, he sees the glint of her gaze in the dark, and she lifts the covers in invitation. _Finally_. He crawls under quickly, reaching for her.

"I won't do it again," he assures.

"It _was_ kind of nice to have everyone stand up for me," she says, soft. "Half the time I don't think they remember I exist. I wouldn't have thought they'd come to my defense like that. And you can be sure nobody is going to bully me after this."

"Good."

She is quiet.

He slips a hand under her pajamas to rest possessively on her side.

"What do you . . ." She hesitates. "What do you think it would be like if I had a power?"

He sighs. "I don't know." There's no point in imagining the impossible. "I'm not sure I would like it. And before you get mad at me, it's just because you don't have the ego the rest of them do, and I like that about you. If you had powers, you might have turned out insufferable." He likes her the way she is, thank you.

"You say that like _you_ don't have an ego."

"I keep my ego in check."

"Five." She's amused. "You have the biggest, most unchecked ego of anyone in _existence_."

He pulls at the ends of her hair.

"I just . . . I just wish I didn't always have to be the odd one out wherever I go," she says.

"You aren't the odd one out with me."

She toys with his hand. She does that a lot in lazy, quiet moments like this. She traces her fingers over the lines of his palm, and brushes her thumb over the backs of his fingers, rubs her finger over the bones of his wrist.

"You're my equal," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He plants a kiss on her forehead. "Now." He nudges at her until she turns, and when her back is to him, he wraps an arm around her waist, and tucks her against his chest. "Go to sleep."

They never talk about it again.

He's learned his lesson.

If anyone at her school starts bullying her again, he'll get her permission to kill the boys _before_ he does it.

\---

He's been biding his time with the Academy for years. They aren't doing anything truly important, going on daily, so-called _missions_ that, as far as Five is concerned, the police are more than capable of handling by themselves. He isn't going to stay for very much longer.

The necessity of leaving is confirmed for him after he's injured.

He is trying to practice spacial jumps in midair, makes a mistake, and falls, breaking his ankle.

The problem isn't the injury. He's suffered a lot of breaks, bumps, and bruises over the years under Reginald's tutelage. The problem is what follows after.

Reginald says rest is essential to his recovery.

He poisons Five. _Again._ He claims the medication that suppresses Five's powers is necessary to ensure he remains in bed. Five is under no illusions. It's a punishment for having the audacity to get an injury.

It won't take long for the medication to wear off, but the message is clear.

Five is _bedridden_.

There are plenty of silent, stationary activities he enjoys, but he's never been forced to lie in his bed like this day in, day out.

Vanya is happy to keep him company.

He isn't appreciative.

She asks him if he wants her to read to him, and he snaps that his _eyes_ aren't broken. She sees he hasn't really eaten, asks if his stomach is unsettled, and offers to fetch a can of Ginger Ale for him, and he replies that if he isn't feeling very well, does she honestly believe a bubbly, oversweet can of chemicals is going to help? She extends a hand to help him out of bed when he needs to go to the bathroom, and he snarls that he'll break that hand if she touches him with it.

He doesn't handle frustration very well.

She claims if she stayed away whenever he was cranky, she would never see him.

This is why she's his favorite.

He reads. He thumbs through a notebook of his old, abandoned equations. He glares. He hears the alarm that signals a mission, the pounding of feet that follows, and the shouting that fades away when they leave. He makes Vanya practice her violin in his room.

It's his fourth day confined to the bed in his pajamas like an _invalid_.

Vanya is struggling with a piece.

He watches her. She's never been an especially animated person, favoring a clear, quiet expression the majority of the time. It gives a weight to the moments when her emotions are visible.

If she is focused, he knows it.

He sees it.

He watches the flashes of emotion that flicker over her face, the way her jaw tightens just slightly, the flare of her nostrils for a split-second, the winkle in her brow that she makes a point to erase before she closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, and starts up again.

She makes a mistake, and stops.

"Hey," he says.

She glances at him.

"C'mere."

She places her violin on the chair. "You need something?" She comes over quickly, and looks him over, touches a hand to the glass of water by his bed like she thinks that's what he wants, which, _dammit_ , he is capable of taking a drink of water by himself.

He tugs on her wrist. "C' _mere_." He wants her to climb on the bed.

She sits on the edge.

He can work with that, slipping a hand around the back of her head, and pulling her closer, kissing her.

She ends it quickly, though, so it's a sweet, chaste kiss.

He tugs her in again, kissing her forcefully. She makes a little "oomph" noise, but she places a hand on his chest, and shifts, and he's allowed to deepen the kiss, though she isn't actually letting herself settle against him properly. He slides a hand up her thigh, and under her skirt.

She breaks away from him in surprise.

"What's the matter?" He tilts his head to kiss the corner of her jaw. "Don't you want to?"

" _Now_?"

"Have you got something better to do?"

"It's—" She blushes. "It's the middle of the afternoon."

"Nobody is going to interrupt us."

She bites her lip.

He presses a kiss to that spot behind her ear, and her hand curls in the sleeve of his pajamas.

"What about your ankle?"

He gives her a look. "I don't know what you think usually happens when I fuck you, but I assure you my ankle has very little involvement." He slips his hand beneath her underwear to squeeze her ass.

She kisses him.

He pulls her into his lap, and starts to tug up her shirt.

She stops him. "I'm not taking off my clothes," she says, breathless.

He glares.

"It's the middle of the day!"

"Fine."

She moves off him to take off his pajama bottoms, and he lifts his hips for her. She pulls them down along with his boxers, and she's careful to ease the clothes over the cast on his ankle. She brushes her thumb over the tops of his toes, and lays a kiss to the skin above his cast.

He takes his cock in his hand, stroking it.

She's got her hair in a ponytail, and it swings at her back while she shifts on the bed, wiggles out of her underwear, and moves to straddle his thighs. "Shoot." She pauses.

"What?"

"Do you have a condom in here?"

He clenches his jaw.

It makes her laugh a little, and she gives him a peck on the lips, climbing off the bed. "I'll be back." She glances at her underwear, seems to consider, and with a flush in her cheeks, hurries off without any underwear to fetch a condom.

He shifts in the bed, and licks his palm, pulling at his cock, and closing his eyes, picturing her mouth.

"Back," Vanya says, breathless.

He reaches for her when she straddles his thighs, and pulls her close, running his hands up the backs of her thighs, and squeezing her ass, kissing her hungrily. She grasps at his shoulders for purchase, and he presses a line of kisses to her neck. He fumbles to open the top few buttons of her blouse, and she lets him, sinking a hand into his hair when he scrapes his teeth over the curve of her breast.

She grinds down shamelessly on his thigh.

He grins.

She's an eager little thing when it's just the two of them.

He kisses her, and takes the condom from where it was abandoned on the rumpled gray bedspread, tearing it open, and rolling it on while she cards her hands through his hair.

She rises up with a hand on his shoulder for balance, and sinks onto his cock with a sigh.

"See?" He kisses her. "Isn't this fun?"

She huffs.

He reclines on the mountain of pillows at his back. Sunshine is pouring into the room at this time of the day, bathing the place in gold. He's never had Vanya like this before, in the light, able to see so openly the part of her lips and the glisten of his spit on her neck and the flush in her cheeks.

She starts to fuck him at a slow, leisurely pace.

He slides a hand up the back of her thigh to palm at her ass under the pleat of her skirt.

"Hey," she says. "Remember when Mom gave you a name, and you said no?"

"What about it?"

"Can you imagine if you said yes?" She wrinkles her nose. "I'd have to call you _Peter_."

"Thankfully, that isn't actually my name."

"You're—"

He presses his thumb to her clit.

She falters.

He grins. "Say it."

" _Five_ ," she breathes.

"That's my girl."

She plucks at his shirt, and he obeys, shifting to sit up, and kissing her, gripping her ass, and rubbing her clit with the pad of his thumb, and she closes her eyes, and fucks him desperately, bouncing in his lap.

The moment she comes, he takes a hold of her thighs, and rolls to have her under him.

Her pupils are blown with pleasure.

It makes him feel a wild, desperate hunger. She is sweet, pliant, and rosy-cheeked, and she is _his,_ and he kisses her roughly and goes to town on her, pounding her into the mattress and making her come again, feeling a hot, possessive flush at the sight. It pushes him over the edge.

She combs a hand through his hair while he catches his breath.

He has to roll off her eventually, of course, collapsing on the pile of pillows.

"How's your ankle?"

He glares, and it makes her burst into laughter.

She kisses him, and sits up, taking the used, tied off condom from him, and fetching his boxers.

He lets her fuss over him a little.

"You've only got a few more days in bed," she says.

"I'm aware."

She takes his hand to press a kiss to the backs of his fingers.

It isn't until after she's returned to her violin that he notices the camera in the corner of his room. Shit. It's such a habit to loop the feed at night before he goes to her room that he doesn't even really think about it anymore, and he'd forgotten to do it today.

He can't take it back now. It doesn't really matter, he decides. He glares at the camera to make it clear he knows he's messed up, and he could not care less.

What's the old man going to do?

Five is leaving this house of horrors soon enough.

He's got an apocalypse to stop, and he can't do it when he's wasting his time on missions, when he's forced to stay in bed for days on end, when he's under Reginald's thumb.

\---

His plans to leave are derailed when everything goes to shit on a mission in the worst possible way.

It doesn't feel real, to be honest.

He lies in bed that night with Vanya in his arms, and his eyes are dry. He knows that he should cry, that Vanya is right to tremble with tears, to choke on sobs, and clutch at him desperately, soaking the material of his pajamas when she hides her face in his chest. But he doesn't know how to cry.

 _I'm going to fix this_ , he thinks, and he glares at the ceiling like it might try arguing.

It's been nearly five years since his last, terrifying trip through time, and he isn't certain he's prepared to do it again.

There's no other possible choice, however.

He stays up the rest of the night to organize the chaos of thoughts. In the morning, he talks to Vanya. He plans, and he calculates.

Three days later, he jumps.

He stands in the middle of the corridor for a moment with his hands in in fists, his breath in the cage of his chest, and his heart in his stomach. It's fine. He closes his eyes, and releases a breath.

It's _fine_.

He is wearing his pajamas.

It's what he expected. His theory was correct. It's his consciousness that's traveled to the past.

Now the question is whether he's returned to the morning of _the_ day.

In his room, the calendar confirms he succeeded.

He needs to talk to Vanya.

The door to the bathroom is locked, but he hears the sound of the shower, and he knows that's where she always is at this time of day. He jumps in. Over the soft, wet drumming of water on tiles, he can hear her humming to herself, and the scent of shampoo is heavy in the air, seeping from the stall that's designated for her use.

He opens the curtain.

She screams, and throws a loofah at his head

"Relax," he says. "It's only me."

"I'm in the shower!"

He huffs, and makes a show of clapping his hands over his eyes, stepping into the stall. "Ben is going to die," he says, and he lets that sink in.

"Ben is . . . ?"

He lowers his hand. "It'll be a nasty, painful death, too. It happens this afternoon. I've come back from the future to stop it." It scared him, to be honest, but he had no choice, and, in the end, he was able to do it.

She scrubs a hand over her face, and she turns off the spray of the water at last, pushing the dark wet locks of hair that cling to her face out of the way.

"You can't tell anyone else," he says. "They can't know what I'm capable of."

She nods. "How are we going to stop it?"

"I have a plan. You agreed to it in the future, so I assume you'll agree to it now. I don't see what other choice we have."

"Okay."

He reaches for the towel that hangs on the hook outside the stall. "We don't have long to prepare. I'll meet you in your room in a couple of minutes. We need a gun, so I'll procure that while you dress." He hands the towel to her.

She takes it.

He jumps to the little, unused study where Pogo continues to keep his gun.

She is nearly finished dressing when he appears in her room.

He checks the chamber of the gun.

It's lucky it's Wednesday, because that's the day Reginald has private, one-on-one training with whomever has disappointed him most recently, and the rest of them are supposed to train by themselves, though that long ago became a synonym for some free time.

"I suppose you want to know what's going to happen," Five says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She nods.

"At 3:27 this afternoon, a group of convicts are going to escape from the prison in Lancaster. Naturally, Reginald is going to send The Umbrella Academy to recapture the men. By 7 p.m., we'll have captured four of them, and cornered the fifth at a diner. That's where it happens. At 7:09, Ben is going to die a slow, horrific death."

She sits beside him. "How?"

"The convict is going to have a gun. And in the diner, he'll have hostages. Luther will decide to send in Ben."

She frowns.

"It isn't a decision the rest of us would have made, I know. But Luther is Number One. The idea will essentially be for Ben to go in, summon a monster with tentacles, and grab the convict, preventing the mass, accidental slaughter of hostages that would likely happen if the rest of us tried our hand at subduing the convict."

"I didn't know Ben had that kind of control over the monsters," Vanya says.

"He doesn't."

"But . . ."

"Our dear, sweet father is convinced Ben _could_ wield control of the monsters if he wanted to. He believes Ben simply doesn't possess the motivation. According to Reginald, a time will come when Ben will _have_ to control the monsters, and he'll, I don't know, somehow magically manage to."

"Luther is going to assume that time is now," Vanya says.

"Yes."

"But it'll backfire."

"Yes."

She swallows. "What's going to happen?"

"Ben will summon the monster to stop the convict, and, in the usual gruesome fashion, he'll succeed. But after it gets the convict, it'll go after some of the dozens of terrified, innocent hostages. It'll tear the head off a girl, that's when Ben will give everything he's got to control it, and, in response, the monster will turn on _Ben_ , and . . ."

"And?"

"There won't be anything left of him after."

"No." She shakes her head. " _No_."

"I know."

"How do we stop it?"

He looks at her. " _You're_ going to stop it, actually." He knows from having had this conversation with her already that she's going to resist the plan initially.

"Me?"

"You're going to take this gun, go to the diner, and hide in the bathroom until the convict makes his appearance. The moment he shows up, you shoot him. You'll have the element of surprise, and if you act quickly, he won't know what hit him."

She gapes.

"It has to be you, Vanya."

" _Why_?"

"If I go to the restaurant, it changes the course of events. I only know how things happen when I'm with the others. If I change that factor, it sets the day on a whole new trajectory that we have no knowledge of, and some even greater disaster might result."

"Right," she says, "but—"

"You weren't with us before. Don't you see? If we send you to the restaurant, everything will happen the way it did before, and we can use our knowledge of everything that happens to ensure you intervene at _exactly_ the moment that allows Ben's survival."

"But I—I don't know how to do . . . I've never . . . I'm not trained for something like this."

"I'm going to train you. Teach you how to fire a gun. I'll take you to the diner, and we'll decide exactly how you'll approach the situation."

"I . . . why don't you just tell Ben that he can't release the monster in there?"

"That could change things in ways we can't predict. If we're going to do this, we have to do it right. Nothing can change until _the moment_ that we _need_ to change."

She wrings her hands.

"Vanya," he says. "It has to be you."

"How will we explain it to everyone after? I'll have no reason to be there with a gun. Are we going to tell them after that you can travel through time, and what we did?"

"No."

"But—"

"I'll jump into the diner as soon as I hear you shoot, I'll bring you back to the manor, and I'll return to the diner in time for the others to rush in after me. They won't know you were there. And, yes, I know I've never tried jumping _with_ someone, but I believe I'm capable, and if you want, we can practice that today, too."

"You've really thought this through."

"I think everything through."

"You said . . ." She bites her lip. "You said the me of the future already agreed to this?"

"Yes."

She looks at her hands.

He gives her a moment to herself.

"Five, I . . ."

"Vanya." He reaches for her hand, turning her palm up, and placing the gun in her grasp, folding her fingers over the handle for her. "You're going to save Ben's life."

She nods.

"Stand up."

She does, and he has her lift her arm, showering her how to hold the gun, how to aim. He explains the parts of the gun to her: the chamber and the safety and the trigger. She listens with quiet, rapt attention, and he knows she's capable of this.

She's always been sharp; it's part of why he likes her.

"What if we warned the prison that some of the prisoners are going to escape?" She looks at him hopefully. "That would avert any possible disaster, wouldn't it?"

"Why would they believe us?"

She's quiet.

"Let's see if I can jump with you. Reginald has made me try it with the others in the past, and it's never gone well. I think it'll go better with you."

"Why?"

"You're better at most things than they are."

That gets him a hint of a smile.

"You need to relax. Completely. You need to forget that you are a person with a real, solid body, and hold on to me. Don't think about you. You need to focus on me, use _me_ for an anchor, and forgot that there's a you."

"I can't imagine how Diego had difficulty with _that_."

He smiles.

"Okay." She moves to hug his waist. "Let's try it."

He feels her breathe in, and breathe out, and her body goes slightly heavy against his, so that he has to take her weight for her. _Good girl,_ he thinks. He balls his hands into fists, sees the fabric of space in front of him, and jumps.

They nearly topple over when they reappear across the room.

He grins.

"It worked," she says, stunned.

He had spent _weeks_ trying to jump with Luther and Diego and Allison, with Klaus, and with Ben, and failed spectacularly every single time.

"Is it supposed to feel like my stomach didn't come with us?"

He kisses her.

They practice a few more times around the room. It doesn't work every time. They can get it most of the time, however, and he is already thinking about testing distance, and if this means that eventually she'll be able to travel through time with him.

The sight of the gun on the bed brings him back to reality.

They have more pressing concerns right now.

He checks his watch. "We've got about fifty minutes before Reginald is done with Diego, and I'm expected in the gym." He knows they don't have the time, a place, or the bullets for her to practice with the gun, but she at least needs to have fired it once before.

"Should we go to the diner now?"

He nods. "Get your backpack. We can't exactly waltz in with a gun. Bring a book, too." He needs her to remain as inconspicuous as possible in the diner.

They're able to leave the house without a problem.

They take a cab to the woods by the interstate, and he has her fire the gun to feel the kickback.

"What if I miss?" she asks.

"Don't."

"I'm serious."

He sighs. "If this goes wrong, we'll try again. I'll travel back again, we'll revise the plan, and we'll try again. You aren't doing this by yourself, remember." He puts the gun in the backpack for her, and slings it over his shoulder.

They head to the diner.

Once they arrive, they don't have much time. He _needs_ to be back at the house on time, or it could affect how the rest of the day goes. They get a table, and order a couple of drinks.

She hugs the backpack to her chest.

"Relax," he says.

"Where's the bathroom?"

He nods. "It's down that hallway. I couldn't have picked a more perfect place for it. He won't see you emerge until you're ready to shoot." He can picture it easily.

"You're sure you want _me_ to do this?"

He tears his gaze from the direction of the restrooms to look at her. "Positive," he says.

She nods.

"Read your book. Have something to eat. Try to relax." He waits for her to give another quick, nervous nod. "At six, pay your bill, take your things, and go to the bathroom. We don't want anyone to remember you're here. Stay in a stall, keep your eye on your watch, and wait. You'll know when he's here. And as soon as he's here, make your move."

"What if he checks the bathroom for people?"

"Shoot him when he tries to."

"Right."

He takes her hand over the table. "You've got this," he says.

"I've got this."

He takes a few long, hasty gulps of his coffee, and moves to his feet. There's a part of him that's hesitant to leave her here to stew in her anxiety for hours like this, but he doesn't have a choice. He is out of time.

"I won't let you down," she says.

"Good."

She takes her book from the backpack.

He leaves.

The next several hours pass at a slow, torturous crawl.

He is impatient to have it _done._

It's worse when they are sent on the mission at last, however, because he has to grit his teeth to force himself through the motions of everything that's meant to happen, because it would be way too easy to use his knowledge of the day to skip the chase.

He manages.

It's almost a surprise to see the convict rush the diner. He glances at his watch to see it's 7:04, and he realizes with a jolt that this is _it_. It's time for Vanya to leave the bathroom, lift the gun, and shoot.

"Damn it," Diego says.

"He'll take hostages in there," Luther says.

Five can't take his eyes off the diner. _Come on, Vanya._ If she doesn't act immediately, she'll squander her chance.

"Ben," Luther says, "you have to go in."

They are close, and they hear the _pop, pop, pop_ of a gun.

He jumps.

There's a shout of "wait!" at his back, but he is already inside the diner.

Dozens of hostages are cowering with their hands over their heads, the convict is sprawled in a growing red puddle of blood, and Vanya is standing by the hallway to the bathrooms with a gun in her hand.

He jumps to get to her, and wraps his arms around her small, shaking body.

She fists a hand in the sleeve of his jacket.

"You did it," he murmurs, and he tucks her face against his chest, and jumps.

He doesn't trying taking her the distance to the house. Three blocks over is enough. He hails a cab, and gives the directions to the driver, squeezing Vanya's shoulder in reassurance.

By the time he returns to the diner, it's a madhouse.

The police are there. His siblings are inside, too, and they pounce on him as soon as they see him, wanting an explanation. The hostages are trying to describe what happened to the police, but none of them saw who shot the convict.

He keeps his cool.

There is a glitch. The backpack. Five's heart stops when he sees Ben with it. What are the chances Ben won't know it belongs to Vanya? Five has to get his hands on it before anyone examines the contents.

That's when Ben looks at Five with a question in his gaze.

_Damn it!_

He knows.

Five does the only thing he can think to do: he puts a finger to his lip.

Ben is a follower, quiet, and obedient, and Five needs Ben to remain those qualities in this moment more than ever. He does. Ben pushes the backpack behind his back, and slinks from sight with it.

They are paraded in front of the news.

In the end, it's after midnight before they return to the house at last.

He needs to lay his eyes on her.

The moment they are released by Reginald, he jumps to her bedroom. She is sitting on the bed with a face that's pale in the glow of her lamp, and she snaps her gaze to him immediately. Before she can say a word, he's got her in his arms, and he kisses her, bruising her arm with his grip, and grabbing a fistful of her hair, shoving his tongue into her mouth.

He lets up when he needs to take a breath.

"I left my backpack," she says.

"It's fine."

"I think I was in shock," she says. "I—I _killed_ him."

"You did what you had to do."

She nods. "I saved Ben. _Me._ I—I went on a mission, and I stopped a criminal." She's got the start of a small, breathless smile on her face.

"I knew you could do it."

She kisses him.

He'd thought for a split-second at the sound of a gun that she _hadn't_ done it, that the convict had been quicker, that he was going to find Vanya in a pool of blood, and it had filled him with a kind of frantic, terrified energy he'd felt only once before when he'd found himself alone at the end of the world.

"I love you," she says.

He pushes her down on the bed, climbing on top of her.

She laughs.

He kisses her, and, all of a sudden, they're in a rush: she fumbles to unzip his shorts, and he grabs a condom from the box in the drawer by her bed, she pushes her underwear past her hips, and he pulls them down her legs, she tugs him closer, and he fucks her on the edge of the bed, making her gasp his name.

After, she's got her usual soft, sweet glow about her.

He disposes of the condom, and pulls up her underwear for her, sitting on the bed, and combing her hair out of her face.

"We have to talk to Ben," she says.

"I'll deal with it. I'll make some excuse about how I know you like to go to that diner, and that's why I jumped in, found you, and left with you before you could get in trouble with Reginald, but I didn't see who stopped the prisoner. I'll make it believable."

She frowns. "What? No, I . . . You have to tell him the truth." She sits up.

"I can come up with a story he'll believe. It's a _backpack_. I wouldn't call that irrefutable, incriminating evidence."

"You're talking about the _backpack_?"

"Ben found it," he says.

"Oh."

"But I'll be able to throw him off the scent, so we don't need to worry."

"No." She shakes her head. "No, you can't."

"Vanya."

"This will happen again. If it doesn't happen on the next mission, it'll happen on the mission after that. They'll push Ben to use his powers in a way he isn't capable of, and he'll die." She takes his hands. "We have to tell him what we know, and what we did."

It's risky.

"We can trust Ben," she says.

He isn't sure about that. Ben is desperate for Luther's approval. Five likes Ben, and he wants to think Ben's capable of keeping a secret, but there's no guarantee.

"Five."

"I'll think about it," he concedes.

"There's nothing to think about. He needs to know. Today will have been a waste if we don't." She looks at him defiantly. "If you won't tell him, I will."

He narrows his eyes. "You realize what you're putting at risk?"

There's a knock on the door.

He suppresses the urge to snap at his mother to _buzz off_.

"I'm turning off the light now!" Vanya says

"It's Ben."

She looks at Five.

"Is—is Five in there with you?"

He strides to the door, opens it abruptly, and arches an eyebrow at his brother.

"Hey. Um. I went to your room, but . . ."

"Come in," Five says.

There's a lot they need to talk about, apparently.

"Take a seat," Five says.

Ben sits hesitantly at the desk. "Look, um . . . I don't know what's going on, and if you want to keep it a secret, I won't tell anyone, but—but I have to know." He glances from Five to Vanya, and back.

"You'll keep everything we tell you a secret?" Vanya says.

He nods.

"I can travel through time," Five says.

Ben's eyes widen.

"Reginald can't know. The man is out of his mind. If he knows my capabilities, who knows what might result from it."

"I get it," Ben says.

"I'm telling you because you need to know that you died, and how, so it never happens again."

"I—"

"You lost control of one of your monsters."

Ben is silent.

Five isn't deterred. He asked for the truth, so he's going to hear it. Five describes the day that was, how he devised a plan to prevent it, and the way in which they saved Ben.

"Dad is sure that I'm capable of controlling it," Ben says, "but I . . ."

"I understand the compulsion to test the extent of your powers," Five says. "Trust me."

"But it isn't worth your life," Vanya says.

"I know."

It's quiet.

"I . . . I guess I should say thank you." He swallows. "You saved my life, and I . . ."

"We'd do it again," Vanya says, soft.

"If you want to pay us back, you can keep everything we've told you a secret," Five says. "You can't tell anyone. I know you agreed to that already, but I need you to agree to it again. You can't tell _anyone_ about this no matter how much you might want to please them."

"If you're worried about Luther, I won't tell him," Ben says.

"You can't blame me for thinking you might."

"I won't."

"What about Klaus?"

He hesitates.

"You can't tell _anyone_ ," Five says, angry.

"If the situations were reversed, you'd tell Vanya!"

"Vanya is _trustworthy_."

Ben doesn't try arguing with that.

"I need you to give me your word," Five says. "If you can't do that, say so. I'll send my consciousness back through time to before you knocked on the door, and when Vanya advocates on your behalf that you need to know the truth, I'll tell her exactly why that isn't possible, and we'll leave you in the dark. If that's what you want, _fine._ "

"No," Ben says, "that's not what I want."

"So?"

He sighs. "You have my word I won't tell anyone."

"Good."

There's a pause.

"I . . . guess I'll go," Ben says, standing.

"Wait!" Vanya scrambles from her perch on the bed. "I . . ." She hugs him. "I'm glad you're okay."

Ben is awkward in her arms at first. They were discouraged from showing physical affection early on, so none of them knows what to do with it. After a moment, he wraps his arms around her waist, and returns the embrace.

She pulls away from him, and steps back pointedly, letting her hair fall in front of her face.

"Thanks," Ben says, soft.

She nods.

He leaves, and that's that, it's settled.

They saved Ben's life, and they assured it wouldn't need saving again.

Five can't fall asleep that night.

It _worked_.

He jumped to a precise, calculated moment in the past. He changed the course of events for the better. He used his powers in exactly the ways he needs, and he succeeded.

He's going to stop the apocalypse.

Some of his memories of the day to day have faded, but the visceral, base moments are a scar on the back of his eyelids.

He remembers the _grit_ that coated his hands and his clothes and food, that stuck in his eyelashes, and scratched at his eyes, that caught in the cut, chapped skin of his lips so he tasted it with every bite of tasteless, canned food he ate.

He's going to stop it.

At his side, Vanya sighs softly in sleep, and shifts.

It's time to leave. He's had the money for years, and the letters of acceptance have arrived, and he knows he's _capable_. It's time to put his plans into motion.

\---

He tells her when they're enjoying their official, weekly half an hour of freedom on Saturday.

Sunlight is pouring in the window of her room, and her hair is glowing with it while she practices her violin, and he closes his book in favor of watching her playing, because they are going to have real, honest freedom soon, and it leaves him flush with something like happiness.

He clears his throat as soon as she finishes the piece.

"What?" she says.

He pats a spot on the bed.

She smothers a smile, and puts her violin on the desk. "Yes?" She sits.

"I was accepted into M.I.T," he says.

She blinks.

"I applied to a number of schools, and was accepted into all of them, actually, but M.I.T. is where I want to go. I've already told them that I plan to attend. I know Reginald will be pissed, but I have the money for tuition as well as general living expenses, so his opinion is irrelevant."

"I . . . _when_?"

"I start in the fall." He frowns. Is this really _that_ much of a shock to her? He hasn't exactly hidden his thoughts on the future of The Umbrella Academy from her. "I'm tired of going on _missions_. Everyone is. It's only a matter of time before our whole, absurd excuse for a family splinters entirely to pieces."

"So . . ." She swallows. "You're going to leave?"

He realizes what's upset her. " _We're_ going to leave." He couldn't have made it clearer that she is his, and he plans to keep her forever.

"I'm going to come with you?"

"Don't you want to?"

"But . . ." She bites her lip. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You can do whatever you want. Go to college. Join an orchestra. Write a book, and show the world how extraordinary you are. You'll finally be in charge of your own life."

She eyes him. "You're buttering me up," she says. He isn't usually a particularly complimentary person, she's right.

"I'm stating the facts," he says, light.

"What if I don't want to go?"

He scoffs.

"Dad—"

"He isn't really our dad. We don't owe him our loyalty. He doesn't _care_ about us." He presses a kiss to each of her hands. "And, to state the obvious, he can't do anything to stop us. What would he do? Lock us up? Have you forgotten my power?"

"What about the others?"

He purses his lips. He really hadn't thought she'd disagree with him, and it's hard to stem his frustration with the fact that, apparently, she thinks there's some other possible path for them.

"You're cute when you pout," she says.

He narrows his eyes. "Vanya," he says slowly, "are you _toying_ with me?"

"No." She bites her lip. "But I wouldn't be opposed to more compliments." That's when a smirk peeks through. "I like it when you're sweet."

"If you wanted someone sweet, you'd have Luther in your bed."

"Ew." She wrinkles her nose. "Gross."

"Exactly." He kisses her. "You're coming with me. It's decided. We're leaving in the morning."

" _Tomorrow_?"

"I want to get to Cambridge in plenty of time to settle in," he says.

"Five."

"What?"

"You couldn't have told me about your plans before now?" She is exasperated. "Seriously?"

"I . . ." He sighs.

"I want a week," she says.

"Why?"

She crosses her arms. "I know you think my whole life revolves around you, but I have other things I care about. There's my graduation, to start. I'd like to go to it, you know." She pauses. "It isn't my fault that you neglected to mention your plans to me until the day before you wanted to go." She looks at him like she dares him to argue.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"I'd rather you didn't tell anyone about our plans during this week, however."

"Deal."

They are interrupted by the sound of the alarm for a mission.

She offers a smile of sympathy.

He heaves a sigh, and moves to his feet, because, apparently, he's stuck in this life for a little while longer.

He thinks it'll end up being a long, tedious week.

It isn't.

Everyone is taking their seats for breakfast the very next day when Reginald stops Vanya with a bark of her name, says that she doesn't have time for breakfast, and orders her to go to her room, pack, and be ready to leave with Pogo at 8.

"I . . ." She hesitates. "It's Sunday."

"I've arranged for you to study in Europe," he says.

She gapes.

"You completed your studies at the conservatory. I spoke to your headmaster, and he said you don't need to attend the graduation next weekend. Your flight for Paris leaves at 10, and I won't have you be late."

She looks at Five.

"She isn't going to Paris," Five says.

"Is that so?"

" _Yes_."

Reginald hasn't bothered to _look_ at any of them since the start of the conversation.

"She doesn't want to," Five says.

"If you're concerned about your flight to Cambridge, I've cancelled it already."

There's a split-second when Five's shock must be visible.

"Didn't think I knew about that, did you?" Reginald says, lifting his gaze to look at Five at last _._ "Have you forgotten that you are under constant, apparently quite _necessary_ supervision, and that every conversation you have, I am privy to?"

He clenches his jaw.

"You think I don't know when you've put the video on a loop? You do it for days at a time, and you think I wouldn't notice? You think I don't see when you _forget_ to do it?"

"I don't care," Five says.

"You think I didn't know about your little nightly visits to her bed?"

"What?" Klaus says.

"I allowed it. I let you have your fun, and I _hoped_ it would curb whatever rebellious, impertinent streak you felt the need to indulge. I made a mistake. Now I am correcting it. I will not allow you to throw away your future."

"You don't get a say," Five says.

"I won't discuss this further, Number Five."

There's a calm in his voice that makes Five furious. Does he think they'll allow him to order them about like they're still helpless, obedient _children_? He does, because he returns his attention to his grapefruit like the discussion is finished.

Vanya runs from the room.

He looks at the plate of food in front of him. "Is this poisoned?" He glances at Reginald. "That's usually your best move. But, unfortunately, you revealed your hand _before_ I took a bite. You made a mistake, _Reggie._ " He jumps.

In her room, Vanya is shoving her clothes into her backpack.

"You aren't going to Paris," he says.

"I know."

"You're going to miss your graduation."

"I know."

He jumps. It doesn't take long for him to pack. He takes a suitcase from under his bed, and shoves in his books, his notes, and his money.

They find each other in the hallway.

"Ready?" he says.

She nods.

The others are waiting in the foyer for them when they start down the stairs.

"You're really going to leave," Ben says.

Reginald isn't there.

"Where are you going to go?" Diego asks.

"I have things to do that _matter_. Do you expect me to believe the rest of you are going to spend your whole lives going on missions for Reginald? I'm the first to leave, but I won't be the last."

"You should have told us," Allison says.

He shrugs.

"You can't really want to leave," Luther says.

"You will, too," Five says.

"You can't just walk away. You're a part of something that's _bigger_ than yourself. You owe it to the world to use your powers for good."

He scoffs.

"It's the truth."

"I'm curious, Luther." He raises his eyebrows. "Does your ass ever get jealous of the _shit_ that comes out of your mouth?"

"Enough," Reginald says, sharp.

The others part silently for him to cross the foyer toward the stairs.

"Put away your things, come to breakfast, and wash your hands of this nonsense. It's done. I won't allow you to throw away everything I've given you."

" _Allow_ me?" Five says.

Reginald is silent.

"What are you going to do?" He sneers. "Stand in the doorway?"

"You're right. I can't stop you if _you_ want to go. You have the means to go where you please. I'm certain, however, that you won't leave without your sister. You can't. You're far too attached. You've been sneaking into her bed since you were thirteen."

"That's why I'm taking her with me."

"How?" Reginald says. " _She_ can't leave this house in the blink of an eye. And that's what you'll have to do. If you want to go, she can't go with you. You'll have to choose." He lifts his chin. "How important is she to you?"

Five can't help but smile at that. "I thought you were spying on us," he says.

Reginald's brow creases.

"Do you know that I _can_ jump through time? I've done it. Do you remember that day when I was thirteen, and I insisted I was ready, and you wouldn't even entertain the idea?" He sneers. "I _did_ it."

"Impossible."

"I was in the future for _months_!"

"If this is true, we have a lot of work to do."

"I've traveled to the past, too. My consciousness, I mean. I had to do it after Ben died violently because of you."

"What?" Klaus says.

" _Died_?" Diego says.

"When?" Allison says.

"You think you've made us what we are. You haven't. You found us, and you brought us together. But everything we are, we are _in_ _spite_ of you. You have no _idea_ what I'm capable of."

"We'll discuss this further after you've put away your things," Reginald says.

"No," Five says, lifting his arm.

Vanya moves silently into his side, hugs his waist, and turns away from the others, pressing her face into his chest.

"We're done."

"I've had enough of this, Number Five." There's a thread of panic in Reginald's voice at last. "You have made your point."

He takes Vanya's weight. "We won't be back," he says. He curls his hands into fists, and he jumps.

\---

They aren't starting off the way they planned, but they have money, and he doesn't start school for a couple of months, and they are _free_ , at last, to live their lives the way they choose.

They have to buy new plane tickets at the airport.

Five is wary that Reginald will come after them, but he doesn't come storming into the airport the way Five expects him to.

In the afternoon, they board the plane, and they leave.

They get themselves a room at the first large, lavish hotel they find. It's way too expensive, but that's a worry for tomorrow. They order a feast off the room service menu, and they take a bath in a giant, fancy tub, and they fuck on the big fluffy bed with sheets that must be silk.

They'll have to be more frugal after this if they expect the money to last as long as he intends it to, but Vanya is _happy._

She pins him down on the bed with his hands over his head, and she _grins,_ and she fucks him with an open, bossy abandon she's never had before.

He loves it.

In the dark, they flip through the channels on the TV. They've never watched TV before. The glow of the screen is kind of hypnotic when it's late and they're tired and the bed is soft under them.

"Do you think we should have told the others?"

"What?"

She toys with his hand. "Ben, and Allison, and everyone." She looks at him.

He's surprised. "Should we have told them that we were going to leave, you mean?"

She nods.

"We couldn't trust them."

"What if they wanted to come with us?"

He sighs. "They didn't. It's a conversation we could've had, but I knew . . . I knew they weren't ready to leave. They don't like their lives in that house, but they haven't yet realized the world doesn't actually _need_ the Umbrella Academy." He shakes his head.

"But you think they'll leave eventually," she says.

"Eventually."

"I hope they can find a way to get in touch with us when they do."

"I bet it'll be in the tabloids. We have fans, remember? Once the others start to leave, the world will take notice, and we'll hear about it."

"And we can get in touch with them," she says, satisfied.

"Sure."

They fall to sleep with the TV on mute.

He wakes in the morning with Vanya snoring softly at his side while the edges of the curtains over the window glow with sunlight.

Even after he began to sneak into her bed regularly at the house, it was rare that he stayed the night. There were occasions, certainly, when he'd fall to sleep for a couple of hours, or he'd stay for a while after she fell asleep because it was easier for him to think at night when he wasn't alone. But, to maintain a measure of secrecy, he was always back in his bed by morning.

That's over now.

They're free. They can do whatever they want, whenever they want, and he intends to.

\---

He isn't particular about where they live. Vanya has a lot of opinions, however, about windows and acoustics and claw foot tubs. He gives her a week to find an apartment that meets her standards.

She does.

He assesses their finances on their new, secondhand table their very first night in the place.

In total, he stole $85,000 from Reginald. He thought it was more than enough when he took it. But it'll go fast if they're paying for tuition, and they've got rent to cover, and utilities, and they need food and clothes and toiletries.

He frowns at the neat little stacks of cash in front of him.

"No," Vanya says. "No, no, no." She is trying to make them lasagna for dinner. "This isn't supposed to happen."

"I told you to buy those dollar frozen meals," he says, unconcerned.

"I want to learn to cook!"

He glances at her, and sees that she's standing over a pot on the stove. "What's the matter?" He doubts he'll be able to help, but she seems to want his attention.

"I was boiling the noodles, and I brought the water to a boil before I put in the noodles like I was supposed to, and I've been stirring it constantly, and I've been doing everything it says in the book, but the noodles have gotten stuck together." She looks at him. "It doesn't say what to do if that happens."

"Separate the noodles?" he suggests.

"I don't . . ." She looks into the pot with trepidation. "I can _try_."

He'll leave her to it.

He ought to put the money in a bank. There's a chance Reginald could get a hold of it, though. He needs to research the laws.

He flips to a new, clean page of his notebook, because he needs to tighten the budget

"They're _stuck_ together. It's like they've melded into one. They tear when I tried to pull them apart."

"We don't want them to tear?"

"No!"

He hums.

"What's the verdict on our finances?" she asks.

"Bad," he says. "I didn't take enough."

"I thought you took tens of thousands," she says, incredulous.

"I did."

"That isn't enough?"

He glances up. "I have tuition, and you said you want to go to school, which means you'll have tuition, too. There's the cost of living, and those expenses will add up quickly. I assume there will be emergencies we need quick cash for." He had been faced with _millions_ of dollars in that safe, and he took what amounts to pennies.

"I can get a job," she volunteers.

"Doing?"

"I could work somewhere like Griddy's." She shrugs. "I could be a tutor. I don't know. I could teach violin!"

"That would help, but it wouldn't be enough."

"How much money do we need?"

"I don't think you don't understand how quickly we'll drain what we have." He doesn't appreciate her skepticism. "You've spent your life in a house where money was irrelevant, but it matters to the rest of the world."

"You say that like you weren't living in that house with me."

"I know the realities of the world."

"You really suffered when you were short on cash in the apocalypse?"

He glares.

"Sorry," she says, though she doesn't really sound it.

"How's the pasta?" he challenges.

She frowns.

They work in silence for a while after that.

She makes a few, frustrated little noises, but she deals with it herself.

He gets the budget to what he wants. She might need to consult on the allowance for food if she's going to insist on cooking for them, but the numbers need to stay basically where he's put them.

She puts a plate in front of him. It looks like she's hacked at the ruined, conjoined noodles with a knife to serve up small, more sizable pieces, and dumped a lot of cheese, sauce, and meat on top. She gives him a fork.

He digs in.

"I'll get better," she says.

He shrugs. They've got bigger fish to fry. He likes it fine.

It startles him when she presses a kiss to the top of his head, and he glances at her to see she's wearing one of her soft, fond smiles.

"Here," he says. "Take a look at the budget."

She looks it over.

He likes the apartment she chose. She says it has character, because it's older, and it has radiators for heat, peeling plaster moldings, and windows that are warped with age. He likes that the ceilings are high, and he likes the view from the window in the front, and he likes the rug she bought.

"I think we can manage this," she says.

He bites on a piece of noodle that's _crunchy_ , and when she glances at him, he swallows the chunk of noodle, and smiles.

\---

He makes the mistake that changes the trajectory of his life for the worst when he's twenty.

It happens like this.

He is having his usual morning coffee, hears Schrodinger hiss, and looks up from the newspaper. There is a tall, smirking blonde woman on his sofa. He refuses to as much as twitch in reaction at her appearance.

Who is she? How did she get into the apartment? What does she want?

"I would never have thought you'd have a cat," says the woman. "I suppose it belongs to your—sister?" She smiles. "Roommate? Close, personal friend? _Lover_?"

"Trespassing is illegal," he says.

She is unfazed. "I have an offer for you, Number Five."

He glares.

Vanya's tiny asshole of a cat jumps onto the table, circles, and sits by Five's elbow to glower at the woman with him.

"Who are you?"

"You can call me the Handler," she says.

He calculates the moves she might possibly make in the time he'd need to get a knife from the block by the sink, jump, and hold the blade to her throat.

"You don't want to hear my offer?"

He raises his eyebrows.

She explains. He keeps a straight face throughout. She says with that same, smarmy little smile how impressed _they_ are with him, and she pats the box by her side when she tells him that some of them aren't gifted by nature with the ability to travel through time, and she says this offer from the Commission isn't one that comes around more than once.

"I'll need to think on it," he says.

"Really?"

He pets Schrodinger.

"Fine." She rises to her feet. "I'll give you 24 hours. Think carefully about it, Number Five. It's an opportunity you won't get again."

"You've made that clear."

She is gone as quickly as she came.

He pushes to his feet as soon as she's left. He is vibrating with the energy that's pent up inside him. He can't believe there's a tool to travel through time that some psychotic woman is offering to him on a silver fucking platter.

His mind starts running a mile a minute.

This is his chance to travel through time without worrying he'll end up stuck. He can get the information he needs to stop the apocalypse. There's no way he can trust the Handler, but he doesn't need to trust her to get what he wants.

He needs to talk to Vanya.

She is already at her audition.

He is tempted to go to the theater, and interrupt. He won't. He'll go to his classes like usual, and he'll sit with everything he's learned, and he'll talk it through with her at the end of the day.

It figures that the day would drag by painfully slowly after that.

What makes the Commission believe the timeline they protect is _correct_? Who decides which choices are valid? Are the leaders of the Commission from a point in a future they wish to protect, and, if they are, what possible sinister forces are threatening to change the past in a way that would negatively impact the future they believe must come to pass?

Is the apocalypse a part of their ideal, "correct" time continuum? When in time do they exist? Shouldn't they be trying to change the future for the better?

Suffice to say, he pays very little attention to anything that happens in any of his classes.

He picks up Thai from the restaurant Vanya loves, and is home by six.

There's a child in his apartment.

"Hi, Mr. Vanya!"

"Hello," he says, offering it a curt, perfunctory smile.

He has to wait another half an hour for Vanya to finish her lesson with the child. It's half an hour of listening to a loud, violent _screeching_ that makes a mockery of music. He doesn't know how Vanya can listen to small children _murder_ her ears with a violin day after day.

The mother is there on time, thankfully, and the child is whisked off _._

"Thai?" Vanya says. "That's a treat."

"I've found a way to find a way to stop the apocalypse."

She blinks.

He tells her everything that happened that morning with the Handler from her sudden, intrusive appearance to her explanation of the Commission to the fact that he has 24 hours to accept her offer.

"You aren't going to accept it, are you?" Vanya says.

"I _am_."

"But . . ."

"Vanya, this is how I'll discover the cause of the apocalypse!"

"I . . ." She shakes her head. "No."

" _No_?"

"I don't support this," she says.

"How can you not support this?" It's rare that she disagrees with him, and, usually, he takes her dispute in stride, because she has a point more often than not, but she must see this his way. "This is the opportunity we've been waiting for! It's been _handed_ to me! This is how we'll stop the apocalypse!"

"You don't know if you can trust this woman," she argues.

"Of course I can't trust her. That isn't relevant. She is giving me what I need to stop _the end of the world_ , and if she causes any trouble, I think I'm capable of dealing with her."

Vanya looks away from him.

He sighs. "I've thought this through. I have to do this. I know it's risky, but it's a risk I have to take." He has no choice.

"How long will you be gone?"

"If you want, I can return to a second after I leave. That's the beauty of it. I'll discover a way to stop the apocalypse, and, to you, it'll be like I never left." He wills her to look at him again. "Vanya."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I can't change your mind, can I?" She looks at him.

He purses his lips. "No."

She nods. "Okay." She crosses the apartment to the bedroom, and before he can do more than sigh at her back, she shuts the door, and it's clear the conversation is over.

That didn't go the way he thought it would.

It's fine.

She is upset, but he's made up his mind, and after he returns, she'll see that he's right.

He dishes the Thai onto plates for them, sets the table, and takes a seat to eat. It'll get cold if they don't eat soon. He taps his fingers on the table impatiently, and glares at the door of the bedroom.

She does this sometimes when she's mad at him. _Withdraws_. She knows exactly how to punish him.

He does not care for it.

She emerges after what seems like _eternity_. Her hair is wet from a shower, and she's wearing her sweatpants with an undershirt that belongs to him. She sits at the table.

"How did your audition go?"

She shrugs.

"What'd you play?"

She eyes him.

"I'm sorry, are we supposed to eat in _silence_?"

"You like silence."

"I don't like it when you're being a _brat_."

"Really?" She looks at him in disbelief. "I'm the brat?"

He takes a sip of his drink.

"You . . ." She shakes her head. "What if they're the cause of the apocalypse? Did you think of that? What if they're _dangerous_?"

"Who?"

"This group. The Commission. What if _they_ cause the apocalypse?"

"That'd be ideal."

" _Ideal_?"

"Think it through." He can't believe this isn't more obvious to her. "If _they_ are the cause, and I join their organization, I'll be perfectly positioned to stop them."

"But what if you can't stop them?"

"You don't think I'm capable?"

"That isn't what I'm saying!" She is losing her cool. "You're the most capable person I know, but that doesn't mean you can't make mistakes! That doesn't mean you're untouchable. It doesn't—or—Five, you can't really think it'll be easy to take on some giant, evil time-traveling organization that wants to end the world!"

"I never said it'd be _easy_."

She drops her fork on her plate like it's offended her.

"Vanya."

"I need to—" She shoves to her feet. "I'm going for a walk," she says.

"Now?"

She takes his coat from the rack by the door.

"You aren't dressed for a walk."

She ignores him.

"Vanya!"

She slams the door after her.

From where he's seated on the sofa, Schrodinger gazes silently at him.

"That's your opinion," Five says, irritated.

There's a part of him that's tempted to run after her, but he won't stoop to that.

He eats the rest of his dinner. He puts foil on her plate, and sticks it in the fridge. He cleans up everything, and decides that while he's at it, he'll take the trash to the dumpster behind the building.

He takes a shower.

He fishes the eye from the box in the drawer of his dresser. It was a clue that led to nowhere. He glares at it like it'll split wide open, and give him what he needs to save the world.

He picks through every single word the Handler had to say.

He is brushing his teeth when he hears the door the apartment open, and close.

She comes into the bathroom. Her cheeks are pink with the cold. She shouldn't have gone for a walk at night in the winter in her pajamas.

She has to pee.

He spits out his toothpaste.

She flushes, and comes to the sink to wash her hands.

They've done this dance. They share an apartment. They share a bed, and a bathroom. They share a life. They know how to move seamlessly around each other.

She takes her toothbrush when he offers it, and brushes her teeth.

She is coming into her own with age.

She wears clothes that she bought for herself. She's cut her hair to brush her shoulders, and her bangs are past her ears, can be tucked to the side, will be gone entirely soon. She's got eyeliner and real, actual lipstick and a watch he bought her for her birthday that he'd knew she'd like, that's got a thick leather band, and is as close as she'll get to jewelry.

She is _herself_.

She's a student at the Berklee College of Music, and she teaches violin lessons, and she is constantly a violinist in another small, local theater's pit orchestra for the run of a show.

"You're going to feel silly when I'm back after thirty seconds," he says.

She shakes her head. "You can't promise me that." She lifts her gaze to look at him in the mirror.

He steps in closer. "I _promise_." He wouldn't risk going if he thought he wouldn't be able to return.

Her blank, default façade crumbles slightly to reveal a look that's sad, uncertain, and hopeful all together at once.

He holds her gaze, because he means it.

She turns, and he's ready for her, reaching for her, and bringing her close, gripping her arms when she kisses him. He breathes her name. She looks at him in that way that makes his stomach go tight, because she _loves_ him, and it's shining in her eyes.

"I _need_ you," he says, brushing her hair from her face.

She kisses him, and before he can deepen in, she breaks off, and she sinks to her knees.

He watches her.

She pulls his cheap, threadbare pajama bottoms down.

She bought them for him when they moved to Cambridge. He hadn't brought clothes from home when they'd left, so she'd bought him a whole new wardrobe from Wal-Mart with a wad of cash he gave her. She's told him more than once since that it's time for him to buy new, nicer clothes, but these work just fine for him.

She takes his cock, and runs her tongue up the length of him, glancing up.

He slides a hand into her hair.

She takes his cock in her mouth. He tightens his grip in her hair, releasing a slow, steadying breath. She moves her mouth over him, swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock, and lets him side in again.

He watches her through heavy, lidded eyes.

She bobs her head up, and down, and when she lifts his gaze to look at him with big, dark eyes, with spit on he chin, and his cock in her mouth, he can't quite stop the thrust of his hips.

She lets him.

" _Vanya_ ," he says, strangled.

He's going to come, getting to fuck her smart, pretty mouth like this, and he isn't ready to. She is startled when he tugs at her hair to pull her off, and she looks at him with a red, gaping mouth, but he fists a hand in her t-shirt, and tugs to bring her to her feet. He kisses her roughly, and turns her, tugging her sweats down her legs, and she helps him with her underwear.

He crowds her against the counter, hiking up her shirt, and pressing his erection to her ass, mouthing at the back of her neck, and reaching a hand up to squeeze her breast.

He wants it off, he decides, and she lifts her arms for him when he pulls the shirt up.

He tugs her back to his chest, and wraps an arm around her waist to keep her there, sliding a hand between her thighs to play with her clit, to push a finger into her, to feel how wet she is for him.

She bends easily for him when he plants a hand on her back.

He holds her gaze in the mirror while he fucks her.

She's on birth control now. He gets to feel all of her. She clenches around him purposefully, and he pushes her down further.

He sees on her face when he pegs that spot inside her _._ "I could never leave you. Not really. You're mine. Don't you remember? You're _mine_." He bares his teeth, and he hits it again and again and _again_.

She gasps. "I—" She closes her eyes.

"Look at me."

She drags her eyes open again to meet his in the mirror.

"That's my girl."

Her knuckles are white from her grip on the sink.

She is chanting his name at a frantic, breathless whisper when she comes, there are tears in her eyes, and she's the most beautiful thing he's ever fucking seen.

He comes moments after her.

He pulls out, and tugs her up, hugging her to his chest. She sags into him gratefully, resting her head on his shoulder. He looks at her in the mirror, at what a mess she is with her hair in her face and angry, red marks on her thighs from the counter and his cum in the thatch of thick dark curls around her cunt.

"You're going to keep your promise," she says.

It's a command.

She finds his gaze in the mirror, and looks at him with a bright, stubborn challenge in her eyes like she's daring him to buck her authority.

He lays a kiss on her shoulder in consent.

They don't talk much for the rest of the night.

They clean up, and go to bed. They fuck again in the dark, her on top and in charge. They hold each other in the calm, quiet afterglow.

He thinks of telling her that he isn't only going to save the world. He's going to save _her_. He thinks of telling her, and he knows, somehow, that it isn't what she wants to hear, so he keeps the thought to himself, and he _will_ keep it, because it's one of his most valuable.

In the morning, the Handler is back.

She shows up when Vanya is making them eggs for breakfast. "Have you made a decision?" Every single detail of her is the same from her high black heels to her sleek back coat to her stupid, jaunty hat, and it occurs to him suddenly that she could have used her suitcase to travel from yesterday to today in the blink of an eye.

"I've decided to accept your offer," Five says.

"Excellent," says the Handler.

"I'm going to need a minute." He turns away pointedly to where Vanya stands at the stove. She hasn't turned around to look at the Handler. He touches a hand to her back, and waits for her to give her gaze to him.

She does.

He kisses her.

"Aw," says the Handler.

He tucks her hair behind her ears, and holds her face in his hands for a moment, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks.

"Clock is ticking," says the Handler.

"I'll be back," he says.

She nods.

"I love you," he says.

Vanya's eyes widen, and she clutches at the sleeve of his shirt.

He steps away from her, because he has to. But he'll be back soon. He's going to learn the source of the apocalypse, and he'll be back. He ignores it when the Handler places a hand on his shoulder. "See you soon," he says, keeping his eyes on Vanya. He hopes the brightness in his gaze gives her confidence.

She offers him the ghost of a smile.

That's the very last thing he sees before he is whisked into the fabric of time with the Handler.

He doesn't realize he's trapped in a whole new way until it's too late to take it back.

In the end, he doesn't actually learn what causes the apocalypse.

He uses a suitcase to make an illegal trip forward in time. It's worth the risk. He means to witness the moment it happens, but he isn't able to do it.

He is gifted, instead, with a single, inexplicable clue. He learns that before the rest of the world is destroyed, his siblings are killed. He stands in front of the ruins of the house with his suitcase in hand, and gapes at the bodies of his siblings while the rest of the world remains untouched.

His heart stops when he sees the watch on the ground.

Vanya's.

She was here.

He scrambles to grab it, and discovers that the leather is stained with blood, that the clasp is torn, that the glass over the face is shattered.

That's when the Handler appears with a suitcase of her own, and wags her finger at him.

After that disaster, it's clear he isn't going to learn the cause of the apocalypse by working for the Commission. He's tired of following the rules, of going whenever they send him, and doing whatever they say. It's been ten years of learning to kill in a whole new, sanitized way, and it's been a _waste._

He's done.

Vanya's in danger.

He makes a calculation, takes a risk, and uses his powers.

He promised her he'd be back a second after he left.

He isn't.

He's back ten years after he left her, he's in the body of a thirteen-year-old, and everything is fucked up.

**Fin.**

**\---**

_Hello darkness, goodbye light,_  
_I'll kiss you close and hold you tight,_  
_If that's alright with you._  
_I'm coming back, if that's alright with you._


End file.
